#''ha! since you said that i; as a man; cannot have a say on what you do with your body;

[froggiewrites]

Puppeteer

Pairing: Doffy x Reader

SFW

Summary: Your life is perfect. Doflamingo has made it that way. But a small slip of the tongue makes you think maybe your husband had more of a hand in the events that lead you to him that you initially thought. Warnings: Fem!Reader, Angst, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Possessive Behavior, Yandere, Doffy is...Doffy Word Count: 7.7k Notes: I've been working on this piece since November, so I'm SO excited to have finally finished it. I hope you all enjoy it!

Your life was perfect. Your husband made sure of it.

You had anything you wanted, when you wanted it, without exception. The life of a queen, even before he had gifted you a crown.

But that wasn’t what mattered to you, really. It was nice, but what you were truly grateful for was how Doflamingo had saved you. From the world, from betrayal, from yourself. You were at risk of falling into a dark place when you met him, and he lifted you up, brought you comfort and protection. To you, his cloak might as well be the wings of an angel.

He insisted that it was nothing. That was simply his job as your lover. He tended to ignore the fact he was not your lover at the time. Destined from the moment you met, you suppose. 

“You might not have known it, but you were always mine. I was simply doing what’s right.”

You had always thought that line was sweet. You thought he meant you were destined, that you were his and he was yours.

For the first time in your life, you were having doubts about that.

It was a small slip up. Almost nothing, really. Baby 5 often goes on long tangents, so it’s a wonder you even noticed what she said, let alone processed it. But while extolling the virtues of her latest obsession, claiming this was true love (as they always are), you couldn’t help but notice an odd phrase in the middle.

“He’s so reliable! He was so worried about me, he said I’m ‘too naive’, and that I need someone to look after me. It reminds me of how Doffy is with you! Isn’t it so sweet that he wants to protect me?” She’s beaming, and you can barely get out your question as she tries to continue her ramble.

“Why does he remind you of Doffy?” Your husband is reliable, of course, and he does his best to look out for everyone in the family, but he would never call you naive. He had never, once, in your decade of marriage implied even for a second he thought you were incapable of looking after yourself.

You had asked him once, very early on in your relationship, why he insisted on doing everything for you, why he waited on you hand and foot when he knew that you would never ask that much of him. He had smiled at you gently, an expression you were sure no other person on the planet had seen, and spoken with such fondness you couldn’t help but melt. “I do this because I love you, little bird. You don’t need to read anything else into it.”

So when Baby 5 smiles again, saying, “He looks at me the way Doffy looks at you,” you can’t help the way your heart drops. You haven’t met this suitor, but you know the way men look at Baby 5. She isn’t a partner to them, she’s a target. A victim. Prey to be lured in and devoured. Your instinct is to say this is simply another delusion on her part, another desperate illusion from her need to be needed. But the way she says it, the look in her eye, it seems far more based in reality than the rest of her spiel. 

But that can’t be right. Your husband loves you, respects you. This is just another part of Baby 5’s incurable lovesickness, her romanticization of any man that gets his claws in her. “The way he looks at me, huh?”

“Yeah! It’s so romantic.” And then she’s off to the races again, completely unaware of the seed she’s planted.

You can’t dig it up, no matter how hard you try. Once a thought is in your head it cannot be unthought. So instead you bury it, as deeply as you can, and you pray that it will not take root, will not be strong enough to break through the soil. You love your husband, your life together. You will not ruin it through unearned paranoia. 

When he comes to bed that night, he finds you lying awake, staring at the ceiling. His voice and hands are gentle, as they always are with you. He has never spoken to you the way he does most people, has always given you the kindness he denies others. He still has a temper, of course, but on the very rare occasions it has turned to you it has been mild, and the apology has been quick. 

“What’s wrong, little bird?” He lays next to you, his arm immediately coming to wrap around you. The weight is comforting, familiar, something that has made you feel safe for as long as you can remember. You try to relax into him, but a voice in you whispers we’re trapped. You feel like you can’t breathe. You want to ignore it, suffer in silence, but your ever observant husband notices immediately, removing his arm with a frown. “Did something happen?”

You sit up, moving toward the window. You need air. “No, it’s nothing. I’m just anxious, is all.”

“Anxious?” His frown deepens. “Darling, you have nothing to worry about. What is it? Let me help.” He follows you, reaching around you to open the window for you, letting the night air in. Your turn to face him. With his arms on either side, his eyes flashing in the moonlight, for a moment you feel like nothing more than an animal in a cage, with a predator bearing down on you.

But then the cold air hits your back, those terrifying eyes are filled with concern, and your husband is back. Of course everything is alright. Of course you have nothing to worry about. You’re happy. Doffy has made sure of it. “It’s just…a horrible feeling I can’t shake. Nothing is actually wrong, I promise.”

He purses his lips a moment, displeased. “If you need something, you’ll have it. You know that, right?” His hand rests on your cheek, cradling you as though you’re the most precious thing in the world. To him, you truly are.

“I know, my love. I promise, it really is nothing.”

He lets out the smallest puff of a sigh. “Alright. I’ll let it go for now. Come back to bed, darling. I won’t be able to sleep without you.” His words start as an order, but his tone turns almost pleading. Doflamingo does not beg, of course, but for you he can at least command politely.

“Of course.” You practically fall into his arms, allowing him to carry you back to your bed. He holds you tightly, as though he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers the moment he loosens his grip. For a moment you swear you see some tension around his eyes, a slight clench of his jaw, but when you rest your head on his chest it all seems to vanish.

“Goodnight, little bird,” he whispers, pressing the ghost of a kiss to your temple. You fall asleep pressed firmly against his chest, where you’re meant to be.

You bury your doubts. You love him. He loves you. Why is such a small comment enough to throw you? Do you have that little faith in your husband?

Or did it simply uncover concerns you were ignoring? Force them into the light of day when you would much rather have let them rot?

You’re happy. What else could you want or need?

A month passes, then two. You’ve forgotten the conversation. You must have. You don’t lay awake at night, overturning small interactions in your head, desperate to find some hidden meaning in it.

He always calls you little. Is it simple affection, or is it demeaning? Does he see you as less than?

Of course not. Not your Doffy.

“I think I might want to visit home.” You bring it up casually, as you’re tucked against his chest. He’s in his throne, lounging, perfectly relaxed, with you perched on his lap.

He laughs. “Darling, you are home.”

“I know. I mean–I want to visit my home island.”

A miniscule tightening around his eyes. “Why would you want to do that? After everything that they put you through?”

You knew he wouldn’t be keen on the idea. You can’t even figure out why you want to go back, because he’s right: they put you through hell. You were miserable before Doffy got you out of there. Your home had chewed you up and spit you out, and there’s nothing left for you there. It really wasn’t home at all, not anymore. Doffy never liked you referring to it as such.

But a few bad years can’t erase everything it was before the fall. You can remember your childhood, sprinting through the most beautiful flower fields with your friends. Diving into the creek, coming up soaking wet, freezing cold, and feeling freer than you had since. You remember the taste of the pastries at the cafe you used to work at, the same one you met Doflamingo at. In many ways, it was still and would always be home, no matter how long you had been away. No matter what the people there might have done to you.

“I know everything ended terribly, but…”

“But?” A raised brow, a slightly bulging vein on his forehead.

“I still have a lot of good memories from before. Places I miss. People I might be able to forgive, if I saw them again.”

His nostrils flare. His controlled smile finally falls. “Forgive? Darling, they don’t deserve your forgiveness. They don’t even deserve to live in the same world as you, let alone have the privilege of seeing you again. This has been a fun joke and all, but let’s end it here. Going there will only hurt you.” His arm tightens slightly around your waist, hugging you to him protectively.

Possessively, part of your mind whispers.

“It’s been nearly a decade, love. I’ve changed. I’m sure they’ve changed. And…I feel like all of that still hangs over me, sometimes. Even though I’ve tried to let it go. I think going back to see it would help me finally loosen the hold it has over me.”

He doesn’t say no, because you hadn’t been asking for permission. You were simply informing him of your thoughts. He couldn’t make your choices for you. He had never taken away your ability to decide, not once. But somehow his displeasure makes your heart quicken, your stomach churn. When Doffy is displeased, something in you screams that you’ve done something wrong, something you need to fix. You didn’t do anything that he would disagree with, not if you could help it. You always told yourself it was simply because you were partners, that it was natural that you would factor in his opinion.

But how many times had he asked you about his comings and goings? How many times had he told you his plans, instead of just disappearing and reappearing when he decided the time was right?

“You should protect that delicate heart of yours, darling. Who knows what going back would do to it?”

“But I’m different now. Older. Stronger.”

He chuckles, like you’ve told him some silly joke. “But still soft.”

You want to disagree, but there’s something in his tone that makes you feel so horribly small. Weak and vulnerable, some storybook damsel waiting for your prince (or king, in this case) to come sweep you away and fix everything for you. “Do you really think that?”

His eyes narrow slightly at the tone in your voice, the hurt hiding beneath it. His own voice grows softer in turn. “You’re a sensitive soul. It’s one of your best qualities, dear.”

You nod, pushing your face into his neck. You can feel him relax beneath you as you desperately try to stop your thoughts from racing. Are you sensitive, weak, soft? You cannot recall anyone else ever calling you such things. You had been so headstrong when you were young. Perhaps that’s what drove everyone away.

You clutch his shirt tightly, as though tethering yourself to him will simply fix all of this, calm your mind and bring back the peace you used to enjoy. That’s how you got all of this in the first place, really. A strong hand on your back, guiding you away from the burning flames of your old life.

The feeling doesn’t leave. It infuriates you how deeply it’s weaseled its way into you, such a small thing turning over and over and over in your mind. Something so meaningless threatening to pull you apart at the seams. You can feel your edges fraying, feel the way you’re starting to fall apart.

You can still hear Baby 5’s voice whispering in your head. Just like how Doffy looks at you. 

For the first time in your life, you intend to keep a secret from your husband. You scribble the messages quickly, shoving the papers back into your desk when you hear footsteps coming down the hall. You know that you aren’t doing anything wrong, but the idea of disappointing him, disagreeing with him, makes you sick to your stomach.

It’s only once you feel his hand on your shoulder, see his pursed lips as he looms over you where you were lost in your work that you remember that the reason you have never kept a secret from your husband is simply because you couldn’t. He knows everything about you, everything that happens under this room, everything happening within the borders of Dressrosa. You never stood a chance. 

“Darling…” he doesn’t need to continue. His sigh says enough, sets you on the defensive. 

“I never said I wouldn’t send them,” you mutter, a childish anger overtaking you. “And I don’t need your permission.”

His lips set in a thin line. “I never said you did.”

“It’s been nearly a decade. They’ve probably changed. And if they haven’t, then at least I can say I tried.”

His free hand pinches the bridge of his nose as his brow furrows. “Little bird, you’re the only one who ever tried. They never gave you a thing.”

“They gave me plenty.”

“What, then, did they give you? Pain? Suffering? An unending desire to please everyone around you?”

“They gave me plenty, before everything happened.” You can feel your muscles tensing, an unfamiliar anger bubbling up in your chest.

“I can’t recall a single kind thing they ever did for you, my dear.”

“I had a life before you, Doflamingo,” you snap. “Do you really think I’m so helplessly stupid I’d try to reconnect with someone who was nothing but cruel to me? They used to be kind. They used to care about me. Something changed. And if something changes once, it can change again. I’m not some doe-eyed fool begging for a kind touch from a hand that’s only ever bruised me. I’m just going to give them a chance to redeem themselves, or at least explain themselves.” You’re breathing heavily, teeth clenching. You very rarely raise your voice at your husband, but you’re tired of this. Of him looking at you like you’re so defenseless, so pathetic.

There’s a strange look in his eyes when you finish, something you can’t place. He takes his hands off of you, putting them up in surrender. “Of course, dear. I didn’t mean to imply you were incapable. I simply worry about my wife.” There’s an emphasis on his last words, on your title, your role. “But I suppose I shouldn’t presume to know about…your life before me.”

He spits the words like they’re poison in his mouth.

He stares at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before you realize the situation you’re in. You’re the one keeping secrets. You’re the one who snapped. You’re the one who wouldn’t drop the issue. You, you, you. A part of you screams that he’s the one who pushed you, but aren’t you still the one who jumped?

“...I’m sorry, love, for snapping. I know you worry.”

He doesn’t move.

“I understand why you’re concerned, really. I just…this feels like something I have to do.”

Still nothing.

“If they don’t respond, then I’ll drop it. I just want to take a chance.”

He lets out a breath, before he wraps his arms around you. “Of course, dear.” His grip on you grows a little tighter. “I just can’t help but want to protect you. It’s my job, after all. And I take it very seriously.”

“I know. I appreciate the sentiment, I just wish you trusted me a bit more.”

His voice grows softer. “Oh, dear, of course I trust you. It’s everyone else that I don’t trust.” He chuckles quietly. “Well, if it’s really that important to you, I won’t stand in your way. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

You sigh, burying your nose in his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And so the envelopes are sealed the next day, handed off to a servant to be shipped off.

You keep telling yourself the letters don’t mean anything. Don’t have anything to do with the creeping dread slowly overtaking you. This is simply an act of connection, of potential forgiveness. It has nothing to do with your home life. But you can’t deny the way your eyes keep nervously drifting over each envelope labeled with your name, the disappointment when it never has the return address you were hoping for. Weeks pass, then months. 

Whenever he catches you lingering near the mailbox, Doffy always gives you a sympathetic look, a small click of the tongue. “Don’t you see, darling? You expect too much of them. You give people far more credit than they deserve.”

“It’s all the way in the North Blue. Mail can take a while to get there.” You don’t sound convincing, even to your own ears.

He sighs. “I hate seeing you hurt yourself like this, dear.” He approaches from behind, wrapping his arms around you, tucking you tightly against him, rocking you slightly. “Don’t give your attention to those unworthy of it. You have everyone and everything you need right here.”

He’s right. He’s always right.

You wait anyway.

The letters never come.

You expected this, it stings anyway. Even now, they can’t even spare you a thought. Your life was ripped to shreds, and they can’t even give you this. You don’t even exist in their memories anymore. You’re the only one who carries this pain, and you do it alone.

You try to talk to Doffy about it again, and while he plays the doting husband, you can see the satisfaction in his eyes. The pity in his face as he cradles you, the condescending, “Oh, dear, I knew you’d hurt yourself like this. You don’t need them," just screams I told you so. You can only be thankful he doesn’t say it aloud, his smile all teeth as he chuckles and pets your head like some pampered pet.

But he wouldn’t do that. He loves you.

The restlessness you feel doesn’t subside. You’ve taken to wandering aimlessly through the palace, as though you’ll suddenly find the answers hiding around a dusty corner and you’ll find the peace you so desperately crave. You want normalcy again. You want to lay in your husband’s arms and not wonder how much of his softened gaze and gentle caress is a lie, a carefully constructed act meant to keep you where he wants you. You know it isn’t true, really.

But the gnawing continues all the same.

The answers you wished for come in the form of an overfilled trash can.

You occasionally bring snacks to Doflamingo while he’s working. He doesn’t like you being in his office for long, preferring to keep you separated from the messy goings on of his work life, but you can tell he enjoys these small visits. Sometimes, on days when he isn’t busy, he pulls you onto his lap, allowing you to curl into him and enjoy the feeling of safety in his arms as he fills out miscellaneous paperwork or checks over maps. You used to cherish those moments.

Today’s conversation is brief, Doflamingo’s frustration with some issue or another clear in his every action. His teeth are clenched even as he thanks you, even as his lips brush against your temple before you turn to leave. You can’t help the jitteriness you feel, the way his discomfort sends a buzzing through your body. Once he makes it clear you cannot fix the issue (in as gentle of a tone as he’s capable of), you’re ready to make your escape, to hope the nausea subsides once you’re far enough away. You’re so upset you almost miss the envelope in the trashcan next to the door, no writing visible except for the return address.

It’s from a little island in the North Blue, known for its beautiful flower fields. 

You can’t help the choked noise that escapes your throat.

“Are you alright?” His eyes glance up from the paper in front of him, the slightest hint of concern behind them.

“What’s this?” Your voice is hardly a whisper. Your hand begins to reach for the trashcan, but you pull it back at the last second. No, it can’t be. And if it is, you don’t want to know.

“What’s what, darling?”

He wouldn’t do this to you. It’s a coincidence. There’s dozens of businesses on the island, many of which might be useful for a king and even more useful for a pirate. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, do this to you.

“This letter.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, your hands shaking. The only thing that keeps you from exploding is the genuine confusion on his face. “What letter?”

You fish it out of the trashcan, slowly bringing it back to him. It’s covered in spilled ink which has soaked through the paper. It’s clear that the letter inside is ruined, and the only thing you can make out on the front is a street name and the island. “Why was this in the trash?”

He frowns, his brow furrowing. He reaches for it, investigating it so thoroughly you can convince yourself this is the first time he’s seen it. It’s only when his gaze falls to the address that his eyes light up in understanding. “Oh. Oh, dear.”

“Was this for me?”

“I don’t know, dear, but there’s certainly a chance.” His voice is gentle as he reaches for you. “I’m sorry if it was. I don’t know what happened.”

It’s unlike him to apologize. It’s unlike him to admit to not knowing, to not being in absolute control. But god, you want it to be true. You want the comfort he offers. You fall into him, pressing your face into his chest, barely holding back a sob. “What if it was? What if that’s the only response I’ll get, and it’s gone forever? What if my only chance at peace has slipped through my fingers?”

His hands are gentle as they rub circles on your back. “I’ll figure out what happened. I promise whoever did this will be punished, little bird. I’ll never tolerate someone hurting you.” His lips brush against the top of your head, kind and caring and protective, exactly how you’ve always known him to be. “I had others in my office earlier, I’m sure one of them did this. I’ll find out who.”

It takes him nearly an hour to calm you down, but he does it without rushing. All of his work, his empire, set aside for you. How could you doubt him, even for a moment, with your proof of his devotion right here?

He tucks you gently into your shared bed after you calmed down, encouraging you to take a nap to recuperate. A glass of water is left by the bedside for you, and he places an extra blanket on top of you to keep you warm and cozy. 

You don’t know how long your nap is. It certainly isn’t long, considering the sun is still in the sky, but it was enough to ease the pounding in your head from the sobbing. You aren’t thinking as you crawl out of bed and begin to wander in the direction of your husband’s office. You’re still a little upset, a little off kilter, and while it may be selfish to interrupt him twice in a day you want to bask in his care a bit more.

An angry voice stops you in your tracks.

“You threw them out?” He sounds furious, his voice booming down the hall. You know you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, should trust your husband to take care of it, but you linger near the door anyway.

“You said to get rid of them!” You don’t recognize the voice, but you recognize the fear. It’s how everyone sounds in front of Doflamingo, faced with his power and grace. With the knowledge he wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever he needed to them to get what he wanted.

“Yes, and I expected you to do it right! Burn them, rip them up, whatever it takes! To make sure nobody finds them! Not leave them sitting at the top of a trash can, in my office, where anybody can see them! I’m used to being surrounded by fools, but this is beyond comprehension!” You hear the cracking of wood, and somehow you know he’s broken his desk. As much as you want to stay and hear the rest, the bile rising in your throat forces you away, back to your room, where you can hide under the covers and finally break down.

He had been taking your letters. You knew that, really, but you had so badly wanted to convince yourself otherwise. He had made sure you would never want to go back, simply because he didn’t want you to. He took your choice away. Why was he so desperate to keep you here? What harm was there in you finally letting go of everything that happened?

You had been miserable. You had spent years terrified that Doflamingo would abandon you next, just like your family and friends did. You had clutched him so tightly your knuckles turned white, and he had cooed and assured you he would never leave you, not like they did. “I love you, little bird. You’re mine. It’s my job to protect and care for you, and I intend to do that for the rest of my life.”

Is that how he wanted you? Insecure and desperate to remain at his side? Perhaps he loved you because you were easy. So eager to please, to bend yourself to his will until you nearly snap as long as it keeps him around, keeps anybody around. Maybe he was as desperate as you were, in a way, because it didn’t have to be him you latched onto.

You bite your cheek hard enough to draw blood. No more thoughts like that. It had to be Doflamingo. He was your husband, your family, and nothing can take that away. Not even this betrayal. Surely he thought he was doing what was best for you. He may be selfish, but never when it comes to you.

This was controlling, it was wrong, but it wasn’t cruel. And as loathe as you are to admit it, it wasn’t out of character. He’s always been in control, his entire life. It wouldn’t seem wrong to him for that to extend to some of yours.

You should go in and talk to him. You should figure out why he would do this. Some twisted form of protection? Jealousy? Fear? You should do something, anything, to get to the bottom of this.

You crawl back into bed instead.

You accept his embrace when he joins you. You don’t push him away when he rolls on top of you, whispering how much he loves you, how happy he is that you’re his. You fall asleep in his arms, as you’ve always done.

You spent months begging the universe for answers, for some sort of proof, and now that you’ve gotten it, you’re sticking your head in the sand. What a coward. You can’t even bring yourself to be angry with him. Maybe you’re in shock, or maybe he’s just done such a good job at clipping your wings you simply don’t know what to do without him, and you don’t care to find out. You tell yourself you just love him, trust him. You ignore any whisper in your head that says the contrary.

The days pass normally, as quickly as they always do. You almost feel normal, after a while, have almost convinced yourself that everything is fine, as it’s always been.

The bird at your window is a surprise. It taps hurriedly, almost as though it’s afraid to tarry for too long. The letter tied to its leg somehow isn’t.

The script is hurried and messy. You recognize it immediately. It was written by a boy you had once run through the wild with, one you had shared every step of growing up with. It was his betrayal that had hurt the most.

The letter is nearly impossible to decipher. Your friend always did have terrible handwriting. You used to tease him for how nobody else could figure out what he meant, how sometimes even he couldn’t read his own writing. But you were always good at it, somehow always on the same page as him, no matter how small his chicken scratch was.

I didn’t expect to hear from you ever again. I’m glad I did. I’ve missed you, all of these years. I’ve wondered if you were safe, if you were happy.

I’m sorry for my cowardice. I’m sorry for pushing you away. But I was scared. That pirate made himself very clear: get away from you, or he was going to kill me.

No.

No, no, no.

No, that can’t be right.

I don’t know if he meant it. But with everything else that came after, I suspect he did. I don’t know what he said to your landlord, or your boss, or anyone else. But I know he spoke to them, and I know you were gone soon after. I’m sorry I was never brave enough to tell you in person, or to send you this letter until now. I didn’t know where you went, and I was sure you’d never want to speak to me again anyway. 

I’m glad you’re safe, or as safe as you can be. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I would be now, if I could. Not that that means much, really.

You place the paper down, shoving your head in your hands. No. This can’t be true. He may be controlling, he may be overprotective, but he would never hurt you. Not like this. Your husband would never have purposefully made you miserable. He would do a lot, but not that.

But you can’t help but remember how perfect his timing was, every time. How he’d gently encouraged you to open up in the days after you realized your friends were ignoring you. How he found you sobbing outside of the cafe after you’d been fired. How he found you idly wandering the streets after your landlord kicked you out. How he found you every time, right on time, assuring you that you didn’t need to worry anymore, that you could just rely on him now. That he always looked after his family, and he would love for you to be a part of it.

You look back on your life together. Had you ever made the choice to be here, or did he simply lure you in with the right bait every time? How many steps had you taken without realizing he was the one leading you here?

You could excuse a lot, deny even more. You can tell yourself again and again that he loved you, that everything he’s done has been for your own good. But hurting you? Hurting the people you loved? Even you couldn’t justify that.

He doesn’t even look up when you walk into his office. He hums quietly in acknowledgement, his pen scratching softly against the page. It’s only when you furiously slam the letter down on his desk that he finally looks at you.

“What’s this, darling?”

“I finally got a response. An intact one.”

He glances down at it, sneering slightly. “Intact? Dear, that’s illegible.”

“Did you threaten my friends for talking to me?”

He’s an excellent liar, a well practiced one. But you’ve known him for a decade, spent hours staring at him, starry eyed, tracking his every move. You can see the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“How many people have you done this to, Doflamingo?”

He huffs. “None. What are you talking about? Who said this to you?”

“Why do you want to know? So you can make good on your promise to hurt him?” You begin to pace, fury bubbling beneath your skin. “I can’t believe you would do this.”

“I want to know so I can know who you’re believing over your own husband.” He puts on an air of hurt, one that tugs at your heartstrings, but you won’t fall this time.

“I have tried to believe in you again and again, pushing down my doubt because I was so sure my husband would never do anything like this. But the evidence just keeps coming.”

“What evidence, exactly?” He snaps, annoyance slipping through. “The crazed ranting of some jealous old acquaintance? One who hurt you beyond repair a decade ago?”

“The first goddamn letter you tried to get rid of, first off all.” He opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “Don’t try to deny it, I heard you losing your mind on whoever you told to do it. I tried so hard to tell myself you were doing it out of some misguided attempt to protect me, but this proves you just did it to protect yourself. You just didn’t want me to know what you’d done.”

He sighs. “Dear, you’re working yourself up into a frenzy. You couldn’t have heard something that never happened.”

“Don’t lie to me! God, you must think I’m so stupid. You always have. And why wouldn’t you? I’ve fallen for everything, this entire time! I kept telling myself that this was normal, that you loved me, that this was what I wanted. I was so scared of losing you I let you look me in the eye and lie to me every goddamn day.”

“You want the truth?” He’s standing now, walking around the desk that separated you. “Can you handle that, dear? We can’t take back our words.”

You barely suppress the frustrated sob working its way out of your mouth. “Yes, please, give me the truth. That’s all I want.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, the way it always does. God, he has to make this so hard. “I’ll always give you what you want.” He reaches out, but you take a step back. He gives you your space, for now. “When we first met, I may have had a few…long talks with some people you knew. Just to make my intentions clear.”

“How many people?”

“I can’t recall exact numbers.”

“Are you why I lost my job at the cafe?”

He doesn’t hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”

“Are you why I got evicted?”

“Yes.”

You curl in on yourself. “God. What the hell? Why would you do this to me?” You can feel your world crashing down as every memory of the last ten years is tainted, rotting from the inside out. It was never real. None of it. “Why would you ruin my life? What did I ever do to you? Why did you pick me up after like some stray dog? Did you feel guilty?”

You expected anger. He was always prone to it, after all. You had expected his tense shoulders and gnashing teeth, a fierce insistence that you were wrong to be upset, to question him. That he was right like always, and that anything he did was simply the best option to some grand end goal you couldn’t see. What you hadn't anticipated was the confusion: the look on his face so lost it was almost childlike. "Ruin your life? You wanted this. I gave you what you wanted."

"You think I wanted–what, to be miserable?”

He has the audacity to look concerned. “Are you miserable? You’re supposed to be happy.”

“Happy? You hurt people! Hurt me!"

He bristles at that. "I never hurt you. You are my wife, my family, my responsibility. I look out for you. I protect you. Those obstacles were–"

"Obstacles? Doflamingo, they were people!” 

“They’re nothing compared to you.”

You feel like you’re slamming your head into the wall. What is he not getting? Why does he not seem to think he’s done anything wrong? Why would he hide it if he thought he was right? “Nothing? I–God. What would ever make you think I wanted any of this?"

"You told me yourself!" He says it with such conviction.

You’re about to scream, to run out of this office and into the night, never to be seen again. He must be insane. More than you ever thought possible. 

But suddenly you remember it. A small conversation, a month or two after you first met. You didn’t even know his name yet, only knew him as the handsome blond who always tipped well. He had been sipping his coffee slowly, an excuse to keep occupying the table and, in turn, you. His question had seemed so innocent then.

"Do you want to leave this place?"

"What?"

"Are you happy here, I mean. Do you really want to stay here, working yourself to the bone, when you could be living in the lap of luxury?"

You laugh. "I don't know what kind of luxury I could get so easily. Things like that don't just come to people like me. I have bills to pay."

He hums quietly. "But if it could come? Would you really still be here if you had someone to take care of you? If you didn't have to worry about all of this?"

You give a sardonic smile as you wipe down his table. "Mister, you say it like it's so easy. I have things to do, people to help. I couldn't leave them behind just because it'd be better for me."

You can't see them through his sunglasses, but somehow you feel his eyes pierce through you anyway. "But if all of that wasn't a concern? Then you'd want to leave?"

"Sure, in that fantasy world, I'd love to see what the world has to offer. But I live here, in reality, and I have another table glaring at me, so I'll be back in a few minutes."

And that was it. Such a small exchange, barely worth noting.

You never thought much of the conversation. You really didn't. But sitting here, now, you're starting to see it for what it was to him: permission. An invitation to do whatever he thought would get you here. Why wouldn't a pirate act on such an opportunity?

You can barely swallow the bile rising in your throat.

“You couldn’t have possibly–” Your voice catches, and through his frustration you see something almost resembling pity peek through for just a moment. Somehow that’s the most infuriating part of all of this.

“Couldn’t have what? Thought you were being honest? I knew you were, darling. I knew you were meant to be here. I knew you would never have taken the first step with everyone in that shithole holding you down. What was I supposed to do? Leave you there?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what you should have fucking done! You don’t ruin lives over a stupid flight of fucking fancy–”

“Don’t call it that.” There’s that oh so familiar rage. His teeth clenched, his nails digging into his fists, his eyes burning so hot from behind his glasses you can feel the room raise a couple degrees. “Don’t you dare demean what we have. Don’t dismiss the last ten years. You are my wife. My partner. Mine.”

He’s stalking toward you, long past worrying about frightening you.

“Don’t you dare treat my devotion like some schoolboy’s crush.”

You think you would laugh if your heart were not beating out of your chest. Before today, you would have sworn your husband would never hurt you. But now, you don’t know if you can trust anything you think. Not anymore. Clearly you’re an idiot, naive and foolish, incapable of sensing danger even when it’s right in front of you. So when he reaches for you, you flinch.

He has the gall to look hurt. His posture relaxes as he reaches for you again, slower this time. His hands reach to delicately cradle your face, but you pull away, curling in on yourself. “Don’t touch me.”

“Darling–”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me. I’m not your darling. I don’t even know who you are. My entire life is a lie.” You barely manage to hold in a sob. He boxes you in, trying to pull you into his arms, wash away your pain as he always does. You fall to the floor, curling into a ball, desperately trying to avoid him. This familiar softness might break you. “Don’t touch me.”

He puts his hands up in surrender, but he doesn’t back away. “Your life isn’t a lie, little bird. Everything that matters is still true: I’m your husband and I love you.”

“Do you?”

The corner of his eye twitches. “Of course I do. Do you think I would do all of this for anyone? Only for you, my dear. Only you’re worth all of this. I’m sorry for frightening you, but I promise everything I have ever done is for you.” His voice is soft and cautious, as though he’s trying to lure in a wounded animal. You suppose in a way he is.

“What did I do to deserve this?” You pull yourself in tighter, your nails digging into your legs, the pain the only thing grounding you.

“You didn’t have to do anything. You were mine from the moment I saw you.” He says it with a dreamy tone, one that could be easily confused for a normal husband, so deeply in love with his wife. But beneath it there’s an obsession, a depravity to it.

“I don’t want to be yours.” The pitiful protest of a child, weak and wavering.

“Oh, darling, you don’t mean that.” He bends down to look you in the eye, put himself on your level. The condescension sets your teeth on edge. “I know you’re upset, dear, but you shouldn’t say things like that. A lesser man would be hurt.”

“A better man would believe me.”

You see the flash of rage that he swallows down before he opens his mouth again. “You’re lucky I’m patient, lover. Who knows what would happen if I took these little provocations seriously.”

“You never take me seriously.” So much of your life spent under the thumb of a man who didn’t even trust you to choose him yourself. Who didn’t trust you to choose a life together.

“You’re clearly overwhelmed. Take a minute to collect yourself.”

He didn’t disagree. So many lies for so many years, but he can’t give you the one you really want to hear.

“I want to go home.” Your voice is so pathetic, so broken.

“You are home.” His voice is gentle, but firm. A statement, a command beneath it. He leaves no room for disagreement.

“No. No, I’m not.” You close your eyes, picturing fields of your childhood. The smell of the flowers, the feeling of the sunlight on your face. The last time you had truly been free.

“You’re home, and you aren’t leaving.”

You feel yourself being pulled forward, your arms moving of their own volition.

No, not their own.

His.

His strings force your arms around him as he engulfs you in a suffocating embrace. His voice is no less sickeningly adoring than it was before. "Do what you want to me, darling. Hate me, fear me, hurt me. Rip me to shreds with your own two hands if you wish. But don't you dare leave me. You can do whatever you want as long as you're home safe."

Your voice trembles as you whisper, "And what if I wanted to leave?"

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, the condescending amusement of someone hearing a child wish for the impossible. "You don't. If you wanted to leave, you wouldn't have come here. Wouldn't have confronted me. Hell, you would have left the moment you found that first letter. Face it, little bird, you chose your cage. You love it here."

"But if I really wanted to?"

He smiles, all teeth. "Then I'd find you and bring you home.”

When he leans down to kiss you, you don’t have the energy to pull away. You can’t even feel afraid anymore as a deep sense of resignation washes over you. Ten years. Ten years of your life, gone if you leave. Your past burned under Doflamingo’s watchful eye, ensuring you have nowhere to return. Where else can you rest except your marriage bed?

It is that same bed he carries you to now, as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. The same bed where he takes you, as he has all these years. The same bed you’re pinned to, weighed down by an arm thrown across your waist. Despite everything, despite the fear and rage choking you, the feeling is somehow comforting.

Neither of you speak of it the next morning. What is there to say, really?

Your life is perfect. Your husband has made it so.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

[chock-and-bates]

if you're still doing it, what is get him back about?

(and for the other anon that mentioned it! but i'll be using your ask to post about the other story you asked about ❤️)

get him back! is my silly little fic for bearnelli (also heavy on lestappen [ofc] and some chollie)

Premise: Kimi’s been down bad for Ollie for over a year. But ever since their rookie f1 season started, he’s been beyond jealous that all his friend can seem to talk about is Charles Leclerc.  When he realizes that Ollie genuinely likes Charles, is, in fact, infatuated enough to consider making a move, he loses it and goes to Max for advice.  Surprisingly, Max turns out to be very willing to help Kimi get his man (while also staking a claim on his.)

this one is fun because i have two outlines and it might be a sillier 5 +1 thing or it might be a bit more toxic. i haven’t quite decided, but it will definitely include jealous kimi, jealous/possessive max, oblivious charles, and infatuated ollie (because @honeyandthunderstorms and I a chollie vision that is so fun, omg)... and some lestappen smut 😏.

Snippet under the cut!

“You seem upset,” Max tells Kimi carefully as they walk back through the paddock. “Are you all right?”

Glancing around, Kimi jerks his head to indicate Max to follow him to a quieter corner, one where he can speak more freely.

“Is Russell being a dickhead again,” Max asks, a little too knowingly. The Red Bull driver was always excited to hear about any issues that Kimi was having with his teammate.

“No, it is not George,” Kimi frowns, weighing how much to actually tell Max. It’s just- if he doesn’t talk to someone about this he thinks he’s going to explode.

“Then what?”

“It is Ollie.”

“Oh,” Kimi doesn’t like the teasing way Max smiles, his eyes crinkling, “What did Bearman do? I thought you two were mates?”

And look, Kimi could tell Max a lot about what Ollie has done. He could tell him how some nights Ollie is all Kimi can think about, or how one of his favorite things to do is make Ollie laugh, or maybe he could even tell Max about that wonderful, horrible kiss that happened last season…

But Kimi is not stupid, he knows better than to embarrass himself in front of someone like Max Verstappen.

In his angry state, he does not, however, have any issues with embarrassing Ollie.

“I need to get him to shut up about how in love he is with Leclerc.”

The smile quickly slides off Max's face.

“What?”

“He will not stop talking about Leclerc,” Kimi continues, already feeling himself getting worked up, “Any time we are hanging out, all I hear is ‘Charles said this’ or ‘I was watching Charles onboards’ or ‘Charles sat by me on the plane’. I cannot take anymore of him and his stupid crush! It is driving me crazy.”

Max has been listening closely, looking very serious all of a sudden, “You really think he has a crush?”

And Kimi knows he shouldn’t say anything more, should just leave it at that and keep Ollie’s secret. But the hurt and jealousy are still too overwhelming-

So Kimi scowls and continues, “I know he does, Max! Today I told him he should just kiss Leclerc already since he is so obsessed with him. Then he got all weird and asked me what I thought Leclerc would do if he did kiss him. Or if I thought Leclerc could ever like him.”

Max’s face twitches, “Oh, really?”

[holyhadesimweird]

adapting

masterlist

pairing : kisuke urahara x fem!reader

summary : after being banished to the human world, kisuke knew he would need adjusting. luckily for him, you help him assimilate. but you are human and kisuke knows how short human lives are.

word count : 2.4k

requested by : @apocalypsesushi-chan

request/prompt : "Kisuke and his hobbies, lifestyle since he practically assimilated to the World of the Living. I often wondered how he managed to discover more of human technology, the candy stores, since he has a sweet tooth and falls for someone in that world despite the lifespan difference."

warnings : things are not accurate because i actually know very little about kisuke's banishment, unrealistic 1900s because that's most likely when kisuke was exiled, non-accurate woman from the 1900s. many pov changes. also i cannot write long and intricate pieces so i'm so sorry.

notes : my boyfriend kind of looks like kisuke and i am madly in love with both of these blond idiots. also i am extremely bad at writing angst because i only want the best for everyone so i hope the happy ending is okay. i hope you enjoy this.

༶┈⋇⊶⊰✿⊱⊷⋇┈⋇⊶⊰✿⊱⊷⋇┈୨♡୧┈⋇⊶⊰✿⊱⊷⋇┈⋇⊶⊰✿⊱⊷⋇┈༶

~early 1900s

walking home from a friend's house, you couldn't help but be nervous about how late it was. it was very late for a woman to be out and walking by yourself.

continuing towards your home in karakura town, you couldn't help but sigh. you were in your mid twenties, and your friends are married and having children while you were still single. it was embarrassing for your family and it was starting to become a touchy subject when with friends.

"excuse me miss?" you heard a man ask, grabbing your attention.

turning towards the voice, you saw a tall man in a black cloak with strange blond hair. he seemed confused, not aware of his surroundings. you figure he's drunk and make note to not do anything that would set him off.

"yes sir? how may i help you?" you ask quietly to not cause trouble.

"i need help. i was... left behind by my friends and i have no where to go." he explained, a look of embarrassment on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. he didn't sound drunk which was a good start.

"do you know where your friends are staying?"

"...they left me for good. i'm all alone and i have no place to stay." he said.

"...i ...i might have room in my living room for you." you said, feeling bad for the man. "follow me, i was just on my way home."

gesturing at him to follow you, you continued on your way home.

"my name is (y/n) (l/n). what's yours?" you asked, looking up at the man who walked beside you.

"it's kisuke urahara. it's a pleasure to meet someone so nice and so beautiful." he said, a light blush spreading across your face at the compliment.

"oh i'm not beautiful, but thank you mr. urahara." you replied bashfully.

"i do think that in all my years, i've never met someone as beautiful as you. but whatever you think, doll."

not knowing what else to say, neither of you talked until you reached the door that would lead to your apartment.

"i don't have much space in my house for you. i can sleep on the couch if you'd like?" you offered as you unlocked the front door, turning on the lamp that sat in the entrance.

"i'd hate to take a woman's bed from her. i'll sleep on the couch, don't you worry about me. you're being such a doll anyways, i can't take advantage of you." kisuke said.

"well mr. urahara, welcome to your new home." you said, offering a smile.

all he could do was admire this angel that took him in and smile back.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

weeks later, kisuke found himself staring at the sweet in front of him in wonder.

"what is this?!" kisuke exclaimed, looking at you from across the table as he put the lollipop back in his mouth.

you had offered him a sweet called a lollipop, and he adored it. the sweetness reminded him of your smile.

you were introducing him to so many new, human things. it was amazing. he wished he could document all of this.

"i also bought you a notebook. i figured you may want to write things down in a journal and you've been here for so long now that i felt bad you didn't have anything to write in."

amazing, what perfect timing. he thought to himself.

"this is amazing. you're such a doll. what would i do without you?" he asked rhetorically.

"well, for one, you'd be on the streets." you teased.

"now now, be nice to this old scientis-" he cut himself off, your expression changed to one of confusion and he wanted to kick himself for slipping up.

"scientist?" you questioned. "you're a scientist? that's amazing! kisuke why didn't you tell me this?!" you continued, excitement in your voice.

"it didn't come up?" he offered the explanation with a sheepish look on his face.

"you can talk to me about anything, you do know that?" you asked, reaching a hand out to him. "i'd love to hear about your work."

"...i know. i will eventually. don't worry about me, doll." he said, trying to ease your worries.

"...alright then kisuke." you gave in. "now, i love sweets and i think you do too. would you be interested in opening a sweets shop with me?"

"i would love to, my dear."

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"...what do you mean she can't be helped?" kisuke questioned.

"i mean, mr. urahara, that your wife cannot be helped. she is far too sick and cannot be cured." the doctor said. kisuke didn't correct the doctor when he called you his wife, too upset by what the man was saying.

"but there has to be something. we are both men of science, there has to be a way. something to help her." kisuke pleaded.

"i'm sorry, son. get her comfortable. spend time with her. she'll be gone before you know it." the doctor turned and left your apartment.

it was now 4 years since kisuke had been thrown into this world, stripped of his spiritual abilities and alone. it had been 4 years since he started living here.

it had been 3 years since you helped him officially exist in the human world so he could work and do whatever he wanted.

it had been 2 years since he was able to get a job and was saving up to open up that sweets shop with you.

it had been about one month since you got sick.

and now, it had been minutes since the doctor told him you wouldn't live past this disease.

kisuke always knew in the back of his mind, that you would age and he wouldn't. that one day, you'd have lived a long life and would go to the soul society after passing. he knew how short human lives were, but he didn't expect his time with you to be so short.

he didn't know what to do now that the doctor had confirmed the worst.

you were going to die and kisuke couldn't stop it.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

one month later, kisuke stood in front of the gravestone that had your name carved into it. he couldn't believe you were gone.

"open up the shop, please. maybe it could be a variety store, you can display your trinkets and the sweets and a variety of other items." you suggested. "do it for me. i need to be a little selfish before i die. you have to open that store kisuke. you never know what it could lead to. maybe you could be a scientist again."

he liked the idea.

taking your hand in his, he admired the band he placed on your ring finger 3 weeks ago. you two had never discussed your feelings, too content to bother and now you were out of time. but he wanted the rest of your life, however long it may be, to be filled with happiness and not sorrow. though there wasn't an official wedding, you two considered each other husband and wife. you were happy.

"anything for you mrs. (y/n) urhara." he said before placing a kiss on your hand, just above the ring on your finger.

"i love you too, kisuke urahara."

looking down at the ring on his finger, he decided he would honour your wish and open up the store.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

30 years had gone by since your passing and kisuke had long since opened up the shop you two talked about and even got back into contact with tessai and yoruichi.

it had taken him a while, but he no longer felt pain when thinking of you.

he did a lot of things for you since your passing. he opened up the shop, he was experimenting and creating things, he was living in the human world semi normally and it was all thanks to you. he was interested in human technology and couldn't thank you enough for the impact you left in his life. he was playful again, knowing that that's what you would want. though your time together was short, you'd shown him a lot of things and how to fend for himself in the human world. he hoped that if you were in the soul society, you were happy.

his only regret was not telling you the truth about himself. when he felt he was ready to talk to you about his life as a soul, you had gotten sick and he didn't want to burden you.

running his hand along the seem in the front of his haori, kisuke felt the familiar weight of the ring he sewed into his haori, near his heart. not wanting people to ask about it due to the small bit of sadness that still crept its way into his heart sometimes, he hid it away. but it was always there to comfort him, it was there with the weight of a smaller band, belonging to you.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"what did you just say?" the woman in front of ichigo asked.

ichigo recognized this woman, kisuke had very old photos of her in his shop, hidden away in his private quarters away from customers. ichigo never asked, but he had assumed this woman meant something to kisuke for him to have her photo displayed.

"i said, 'my master is kisuke urahara.'." ichigo repeated, his hands on his zapankuto, waiting for you and ikkaku to strike him.

ichigo watched as the expression on your face softened and you lowered your zanpakuto before looking at your squad member.

"i'm not fighting this ryoka, ikkaku." you said, surprising both ichigo and ikkaku. "he knows something i need to know. i can't have him dying."

"then i'll fight you as well (y/n), you know that." ikkaku said.

"bring it." you challenged. turning to ichigo all you could say was, "after we save your friend, bring me home. bring me to him."

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"you know ichigo, i've been in the human world before. when i was a student, training to become a soul reaper. when i crossed the threshold, i had a vision, a memory of my human life, come into my mind. it was a man, tall and blond, he was playful and fun. all i heard was the name 'kisuke urahara' before the memory ended." you recounted to the teen who was with his group of friends, ready to go home. "souls remember very little, or nothing, of their human life. i remembered him and when i heard you say his name, i knew i had to help you. please bring me to him."

"you've got it." ichigo said as all of you stepped through the threshold. "it's the least we can do for all you did to help."

the next few moments were a blur as you ran with everyone to the official gate. the world finally was stabilizing itself after landing on what appeared to be a flying carpet.

"my, my. welcome back everyone." you heard.

looking up, you saw the same tall blond man in your memories, but his back was turned away from you.

"urahara, but how?" ichigo questioned.

"it's good to see you again, young ichigo." the man said, turning slightly to look at the teen over his shoulder, his fan covering part of his face.

in doing so, he saw you.

losing all train of thought, kisuke's eyes widened and he turned to fully look at you, dropping his fan. he wondered if he was hallucinating. you were just as beautiful as the day he lost you. but now you wore shinigami clothing.

his lips parted and he wondered what he should say. it had been around 90 years since you passed as a human. he wondered how much you remembered of your human life. if you remembered him.

not being able to make out the words being said to him and around him by the others, kisuke asked tessai to take everyone home and told everyone he would talk to them later. he stood and offered his hand to you, hoping to take you somewhere private.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

once you were outside of the shop, the two of you began talking.

"you did it." you whispered, staring at the building in front of you.

"of course i did it." he replied, placing a hand on the small of your back. "you asked me to do it and i wasn't going to go against the request of my wife."

looking up at him, he saw your eyes filling with tears.

"i don't remember much. i remember very little of our time together when i was human. but i had a memory come back to me and i only remember you promising me something and saying i love you. i remember the feeling that i felt in hearing those words. i was elated... but i was also sad and i knew that something wrong was happening for me to be sad." reaching up to place a hand on his jaw, cradling his face with your hand, you continued. "i was sick wasn't i? i died too early."

taking a deep breath, he pulled you into his chest and hugged you. "you were sick. and you did die too early. but you showed me how to live in the human world without even knowing what i was. you helped me live and now i do so much more than what i imagined i would do in the human world."

"now, show me this shop of yours kisuke urahara. i want to see what you've created from my idea."

letting out a laugh, he took your left hand in his, and tried to fish something out of his haori but stopped when he realized he couldn't. "...i might've sewn our rings into my haori. ...i'm gonna have to remove them."

laughing at him you pulled on his hand and entered the shop he built for you.

[akkivee]

i saw a suggestion that the alt outfits signify a timeskip and became possessed lmao

[sunrise-on-the-shore]

i need so much time to process the information i have encountered today. i'm gonna be away for a bit.

[theabstruseone]

I slept in and just woke up, so here's what I've been able to figure out while sipping coffee:

Twitter has officially rebranded to X just a day or two after the move was announced.

The official branding is that a tweet is now called "an X", for which there are too many jokes to make.

The official account is still @twitter because someone else owns @X and they didn't reclaim the username first.

The logo is 𝕏 which is the Unicode character Unicode U+1D54F so the logo cannot be copyrighted and it is highly likely that it cannot be protected as a trademark.

Outside the visual logo, the trademark for the use of the name "X" in social media is held by Meta/Facebook, while the trademark for "X" in finance/commerce is owned by Microsoft.

The rebranding has been stopped in Japan as the term "X Japan" is trademarked by the band X JAPAN.

Elon had workers taking down the "Twitter" name from the side of the building. He did not have any permits to do this. The building owner called the cops who stopped the crew midway through so the sign just says "er".

He still plans to call his streaming and media hosting branch of the company as "Xvideo". Nobody tell him.

This man wants you to give him control over all of your financial information.

Edit to add further developments:

Yes, this is all real. Check the notes and people have pictures. I understand the skepticism because it feels like a joke, but to the best of my knowledge, everything in the above is accurate.

Microsoft also owns the trademark on X for chatting and gaming because, y'know, X-box.

The logo came from a random podcaster who tweeted it at Musk.

The act of sending a tweet is now known as "Xeet". They even added a guide for how to Xeet.

The branding change is inconsistent. Some icons have changed, some have not, and the words "tweet" and "Twitter" are still all over the place on the site.

TweetDeck is currently unaffected and I hope it's because they forgot that it exists again. The complete negligence toward that tool and just leaving it the hell alone is the only thing that makes the site usable (and some of us are stuck on there for work).

This is likely because Musk was forced out of PayPal due to a failed credit line project and because he wanted to rename the site to "X-Paypal" and eventually just to "X".

This became a big deal behind the scenes as Musk paid over $1 million for the domain X.com and wanted to rebrand the company that already had the brand awareness people were using it as a verb to "pay online" (as in "I'll paypal you the money")

X.com is not currently owned by Musk. It is held by a domain registrar (I believe GoDaddy but I'm not entirely sure). Meaning as long as he's hung onto this idea of making X Corp a thing, he couldn't be arsed to pay the $15/year domain renewal.

Bloomberg estimates the rebranding wiped between $4 to $20 billion from the valuation of Twitter due to the loss of brand awareness.

The company was already worth less than half of the $44 billion Musk paid for it in the first place, meaning this may end up a worse deal than when Yahoo bought Tumblr.

One estimation (though this is with a grain of salt) said that Twitter is three months from defaulting on its loans taken out to buy the site. Those loans were secured with Tesla stock. Meaning the bank will seize that stock and, since it won't be enough to pay the debt (since it's worth around 50-75% of what it was at the time of the loan), they can start seizing personal assets of Elon Musk including the Twitter company itself and his interest in SpaceX.

Sesame Street's official accounts mocked the rebranding.

[lokissweater]

talk baby ⋆｡°✩

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: it’s the season of the world series!— your little life with megumi absolutely warm and loving as you spent every waking moment together, the both of you never failing to hang out or speak to one another since the very moment you two made it official. but when the higher ups start demanding more of megumi to bring the world series home, tiring him out and causing him to lose sleep? a wedge is driven between you both as megumi tells you words he wished he’d never said.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, cursing, FLUFF, ANGSTYY, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it yall), SMUT, baseball talk, megumi LOOVESS YOUU my goodness, DONINANT AF MEGUMI OBVIOUSLYYY, creampie, shower sex, DIRTY TALK megumi has a filthy mouth, megumi and reader get into a fight, it’s the world series, all characters are aged up.

word count: 12.5k (IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY-)

authors note: THE WAIT IS FINALLY OVERRR FUCK i cannot thank you all enough for the support with these series. i saw all of your AMAZING suggestions and sprinkled them all over THANK YOU!! i POURED my heart into this and i really hope you all love itttttt :,( STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT FIC OF THIS SERIES AAHHH!! I LOVE YOU MWAHHH <33

i highly highly advise you to read the first part of this fic or else you won’t be able to understand some of the storyline and references :( you can find it here!

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megumi fushiguro loved how much you talked.

“—and then i went to the bakery down the street from my campus to get that one coffee cake i always get? the one you brought me after my class?”

“mhm.”

“but they were freaking out of it it’s like they knew i was coming to take their stock man. it was seven in the morning how the fuck are you out of coffee cake?”

megumi laughed softly and pressed a slow sweet kiss to your cheek, readjusting his arms around your waist as he scooched your body closer to his on his lap, the both of you on his huge black bean bag that sat in his living room as he leaned the side of his head back on your shoulder, relaxed and a little sleepy.

“so then i had to go to the one on campus, even though i already know it doesn’t taste the same…” you sighed sadly. “what if they did that on purpose? what if they want me to stop coming?”

megumi huffed an amused breath through his nose and shook his head gently against your shoulder. “don’t think so baby. i feel like you keep them in business with how much you go.”

you huffed and crossed your arms, grumbling. “yet they treat me like this...”

tilting your head down then to get a better look at him, you peeked at his sleepy face and tired eyes as he tried his absolute hardest to stay awake for you, wanting to listen to everything you had to say and more, but his eyelids drooping every couple of seconds before opening back up again just not letting him.

you smiled softly and carded your fingers through his black hair, pushing the front strands back and giving him a cute peck on his forehead.

“take a nap gumi… you’re so tired i can see it.”

“uh uh.” megumi hummed.

he lifted his head groggily and propped his chin up on your shoulder, eyes closed.

“keep going.” he murmured, his words a little slurred. “did you end up getting your coffee cake from the other bakery..?”

“i did.” you responded softly, caressing your thumb over his warm cheek as your soothing voice lulled him. “it was nasty. the end. c’mon baby you have practice tomorrow—”

“no.”

“gumi it’s late i don’t want to keep you uuupp.” you whined, nudging him.

“if you sleep over.” he mumbled.

“but i have class tomorrow.”

“i’ll take you.”

“but you always do and i feel bad…” you pinched his cheek softly. “it’s okay i can—”

“don’t care.”

you giggled. “well i do. i want you to get more sleep gumi, your practices are crazy long now and you have them like everyday—”

he groaned loudly and ushered you up, you complying as you watched him lazily stand from the bean bag and grab you, baggy eyes half lidded as he picked you up from around your legs and threw you over his shoulder— something he always did ever since the day he confessed, and something you absolutely floored over whenever he did it.

your giggles rang through his quiet and spacious apartment that made him sleepily smile as he lazily carried you down the hall and to his room, setting you softly to sit on his plush bed as he pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of your head, though nearly almost missing, him leaning back up and grabbing the hem of his black shirt— pulling it over his head and carelessly tossing it somewhere in the room before climbing into bed.

you felt so so bad. the team’s schedule was released just two weeks prior, and seeing as the world series was coming up— the most important segment of competitive games they could possibly ever have, the coaches and managers were grinding and overworking their players to pure fucking filth, them wanting to keep their streak as the number one baseball team no matter what it took.

and because of that, megumi was always so tired and stressed— holding on day by day as the higher ups demanded so much of him because he was the most skilled on the team, him spending his days trying to stay awake and make time for you— picking you up from class and taking you out to lunch like he always did, but your worried gaze always on his dark under eyes as you insisted and told him already that you understood, that he didn’t need to right now if it was over the subject of his career.

and especially if it was for the world series.

“lay down.” he murmured, patting the pillow next to him as he peeked at you with one eye open.

you stood, pulled the covers back and hopped in, megumi’s arm immediately snaking around your waist and pulling your back to his bare chest, his face nuzzling in your hair as you noticed how quickly his breathing deepened, falling asleep almost the minute you got settled in his arms and fitting like a little puzzle piece.

it had been almost an entire year since you and megumi started dating, and you have never ever been happier in your life as you thanked your lucky stars over and over again for being such a dumbass— wholly believing that if one thing had changed, it wouldn’t have played out the way that it did.

and you adored the way that it played out.

megumi was so affectionate. everyday. his love language being physical touch as he literally never left you alone and always had to be touching you in any given situation— like his hand on your thigh whenever he drove, playing with your fingers from across the table while out at a restaurant… and like now, his toned body literally engulfing you into his that it made you feel so cared for and warm and loved, something you always wanted to feel for the rest of your life as long as it was with him.

the next morning he drove you to school like he said he would, and then went straight to practice after, you telling him that you would be there once your classes were over.

and when you did get to the stadium later that day, megumi was mad.

“what the fuck happened?” you quickly sat next to your best friend on the sidelines, her snickering as you both watched megumi tell off another player for fumbling a double play on the field.

“they’re making more errors today,” your girl friend sighed. “they’re all nervous since their division series game is tomorrow and they’re getting closer to the big thing… but megumi is not having it.”

“you bobbled the ball go to first fucking base and eat it what the hell are you doing trying to—”

you gnawed at your bottom lip.

it was common for megumi to bark out orders and take charge on the field, that wasn’t out of the ordinary, but it was only here and there where he was yelling and insulting the rest of his teammates like that (mostly rarely). a sign you knew was because he was stressing the fuck out.

“what you just did was a kiddie fucking error we won’t make it to the world series like this dingus the fuck are you—”

you covered your face and groaned. “i can’t watch… i don’t think i’ve seen him like this since that one day he asked me to come here.”

“you mean the day he ate you out in—”

“shuuushhh!” your hands shot out and slapped over her mouth as she let out a muffled laugh, your eyes wide and cheeks pink as you frantically looked around to see if anybody had heard her.

she took your wrists then and pulled them away. “have you guys even had sex yet? how many times am i gonna ask you until you say yes—”

you nudged her away. “no! we haven’t yet.”

you didn’t know why you hadn’t— the topic just one that was never brought up by either of you.

but you’ve definitely done other things though.

megumi was like a dog, not knowing the meaning of ‘keep your hands to yourself’ as he was always groping your ass in public out of no where just to hear you squeak in surprise, shoving his hands down your pants and making you cum repeatedly on his fingers when you’re both innocently just watching a movie on his couch, pressing his face into your tits and sucking hickeys whenever you wore a low cut shirt, and bullying his way in between your legs to lick and devour you up whenever he felt like it— all things he did with zero hesitation nor self control.

you weren’t complaining though, definitely not— you were just as freaky.

because every time megumi wore those gray sweatpants after practices that you loved oh so very much, no shirt on with his perfect toned body out only for your eyes— your mouth was on him, licking his chest all the way down to his pelvis, tugging the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers down until all that was left before you was his mlb dick, you taking him into your mouth and sucking the absolute life out of him until he was shaking and breathlessly chanting your pretty name like a prayer—

“break!”

you pulled yourself from your thoughts and stood, your eyes already watching the way megumi walked over from across the field with his head down, chest heaving and his face glistening with sweat against the setting sun, his baseball uniform covered in dirt.

both you and your girl friend walked down the steps and towards the bullpen, you quickly grabbing a clean white hand towel from the gatorade jug rack beforehand and catching up, spotting yuji and megumi already seated inside on a bench.

upon megumi noticing you coming up, he smiled softly, tiredly.

“you guys are sucking today.” your best friend deadpanned, and you elbowed her.

“no. you guys just look really nervous… is everything okay?”

you took a seat next to megumi and silently offered the clean towel, him gently bringing up your extended wrist and pecking it in gratitude before taking the towel and wiping down his face, your cheeks flushing in response.

yuji sighed deeply and shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. “everyone’s literally losing it. we win every year but each year that comes is extra added pressure to keep that up.”

megumi nodded wordlessly in agreement, his head hung.

“well this is your first bad practice isn’t it?” you softly mentioned.

“yeah… maybe it’s just today and you guys will be okay tomorrow.” your girl friend added, smiling comfortingly at yuji, him giving her the same smile back but with apprehension in his eyes.

“would’ve been fine if it was yesterday.” megumi cut in, voice monotone. “not today. not when it’s the last leg for the world series.”

he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms with closed eyes, yuji nodding next to him.

you pulled your lips into a thin line, heavy anxiety brewing in your chest at the thought of them possibly losing before even getting into the league championships, something their team has never done before as they’ve always just gone straight through.

in order to get through to the world series, their team has to win the division series and the league championships, then they earn their rightful shining spot of playing in the world series and winning— something megumi has been a part of for almost three years now, and something the team has dominated over for five consecutive years straight.

but what if this year was different?

“how are you feeling?” you gently asked megumi after a bit. “i saw you were a little mad today on the field…”

he slowly pried his eyes open and looked at you, sighing softly through his nose.

“m’fine pretty baby.” he murmured. “they’re just not playing like they should be.”

megumi took his cap off and scratched the side of his head, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “and neither am i to be honest.”

your eyes softened.

“what do you mean?”

“m’just not meeting the standards i set for myself.”

“but you play well in every game gumi..” you mumbled. “don’t overwork yourself please. just keep doing what you’ve been doing… it’s been going great so far, hasn’t it?”

he gave you a little smile and lazily reached up to delicately caress and run the ends of your hair through his fingers. “i need to amp it up though. i need to try harder.”

“try harder when you’re already winning?” you quirked a confused brow.

he nodded.

“what’s the reason behind that?”

megumi gave you a sly smile. “because you’ll be watching me.”

you gawked, shaking your head at him. “gumi, you know anything that you do makes me freak out and it’s embarrassing...” you subconsciously tugged a bit at the sides of his jersey. “the way you tied my shoes for me the other day made me freak out. the way you pumped my gas last week made me freak out. the way you stuck your fingers inside my pu—”

his eyes bulged open as he shot forward and muffled you with a kiss, you kissing him back and laughing cutely once he pulled away.

“nasty mouth…” he mumbled, but the little grin on his face made you giggle as he put his cap back on over his head and nudged it down, trying to conceal his eyes and the blushing of his cheeks— but you catching on anyways.

“how was class?” he asked quietly, readjusting his cap. “did you get your coffee cake after i dropped you off?”

you shook your head. “no because i’d rather die than get the one on campus. they need to close that place down.”

megumi snorted, but his eyebrows pinched momentarily as he took your hand in his and started playing with your fingers. “you should’ve told me. i would’ve drove you to the one you like.”

“no gumi i wasn’t gonna make you do that... i wanted you to sleep in as much as possible.”

“i’ll take you after practice.”

“no! you need to nap after don’t waste time—”

“m’not wasting time.” he replied, but before you could get another word in, his coach called all players back on field.

“i’ll see you after.” he stood and pecked your forehead. “i love you pretty baby.”

you smiled shyly, your cheeks a cute pink.

“i love you too.”

thankfully, megumi didn’t seem as pissed off for the rest of practice, and you hoped it was because of the little chat you had with him in the bullpen prior and that it cheered him up in some way— the team playing a lot better and actually working together this time instead of being at each others throats over feeble mistakes.

and when they were all finally back at the locker rooms packed up and ready to go, you organized his clean uniform for tomorrow and hung his gloves neatly inside his locker, closing it once you were done.

“you don’t have to do that baby.” he murmured, gesturing to his locker as he swung his duffel bag over his shoulder and extended a hand. “organize. i can do that.”

“but i like doing it...” you took his offering hand and interlaced your fingers with his. “it helps you find things quicker.”

you both stepped out, quickly bidding your girl friend and yuji goodbye on the way as you walked down the echoey hallway together.

“—you also don’t have to drive me to school every morning but you do that anyways.”

he smiled. “touché.”

he led you out of the arena and over to the private parking area for players and crew— him opening the passenger side door for you to step inside and shutting it after, throwing his duffel bag to the back once he got in the drivers seat.

and like he always did, megumi buckled you up himself, grabbing the seat belt strap and pulling it over you to click on the other side with a kiss to your cheek— him never letting you do it yourself since the day you two properly met.

“do they sell food at the bakery?” he looked over at you as he pulled out. “they do don’t they.”

“they do!” you nodded sweetly. “but we’re not going.”

“why.”

“because you need to sleep—”

“no.”

“megumi—”

he shot you a glare and you squeaked.

“gumi! i-i meant gumi!”

he fixed his glare and broke out into a small smile instead, laughing lightly as he set his big hand over your thigh and squeezed lovingly.

you giggled softly.

“lunch first and then i’ll sleep.”

“oh my—”

you reached over for the door handle and pulled, brows furrowing once the lock wouldn’t budge after multiple frantic tries.

“you still have child lock on?!”

megumi shielded his mouth to hide his snicker, eyes to the road.

“uh huh.”

“why?!”

he gave you a deadpanned look and pointed to the door. “exhibit a, baby. the car is moving.”

“gumi if you hate me just say that.”

pulling into the bakery’s parking lot, he playfully rolled his eyes at your comment and pinched your cheek gently.

“be quiet.”

the bakery was a cute little place that was a frequent pit stop for the both of you to pick up breakfast on the way to the things you had to do in the mornings— always cozy and warm and filled with little trinkets and postcards of places from around the world, you always gushing when you or megumi would spot a new souvenir on the walls or on the shelves, and him sometimes having to stop you from snatching some for yourself…

“they have a million!” you whispered. “they won’t notice this one. please it’s from greece it’ll look cute on my fridge!”

megumi sipped his lemonade and gave you a half lidded look as you both sat in a booth.

“i don’t know if anyone has ever told you this but.” he gently slid the coffee cake closer to you, silently ushering you to eat. “that’s called stealing.”

“not if they don’t notice.”

megumi gave you an amused smile.

“i’ll take one for you too!”

“for me?”

“yeah!” you put your elbow on the table and propped your chin on your palm, tilting your head with the cutest expression megumi has ever seen in his fucking life.

“i’d do anything for you.”

his cheeks flooded pink, and he swallowed thickly.

megumi would do anything for you.

“i appreciate that pretty baby,” he murmured, tenderly tracing the pad of his index finger mindlessly around the back of your hand.

“great! so can i do it?”

“no.”

“maaannnn!” you slumped over the table and pouted. “you’re no fun.”

he chuckled and took a bite out of his ham and cheese deli, your mannerisms sometimes reminding him of his dad.

he swallowed.

“gojo wants to meet you.”

you froze. “really? he does?”

megumi nodded.

“okay! that’s okay— wait no! wait—” you groaned and leaned against the booth. “i don’t think he’s gonna like me very much…”

“huh?” his eyebrows furrowed. “why do you say that?”

you peered up at him sheepishly. “because i talk too much… i’m not gonna notice and end up telling him my lore, my school gpa, and my social security number.”

megumi laughed, and your heart fluttered at the sight of his crinkling eyes and gorgeous smile, the sound of it making you swoon.

he shook his head and rubbed his sleepy eyelids. “no baby... he’d love you. i know he would.”

“i don’t know gumi…” you sighed, looking down at your lap. “i want to meet him of course! that’s a given… but..”

megumi quirked a brow. “but?”

“i just don’t want to look stupid…” you laughed nervously. “it’s happened before where my friends parents say i’m a blabber mouth and i don’t want to embarrass you—”

his tired eyes narrowed. “blabber mouth? who’s saying you’re a blabber mouth?”

“my— my ex boyfriend in high school…” you cowered a little. “but it’s okay because i was over sharing!—”

“no.” he said firmly, his gaze looking directly into yours. “you’re not a blabbermouth. there’s a difference between being really open and friendly with people right off the bat and being a blabbermouth.”

megumi shook his head in annoyance. how could someone ever say you were a blabbermouth? he had never heard something that was so far from the truth.

you were too sweet for your own good, that was your only fault. you considered everyone you met a close friend of yours and weren’t afraid to tell them whatever came to your precious mind and made them feel welcome— something that megumi adored so much about you… so much, and something that made him borderline violent when people berated you for it.

“they just can’t handle it when someone is actually genuine. like you. and that’s not your fault.”

the shiniest smile grew on your face then, your eyes sparkling and feeling like a million fucking butterflies were fluttering all over your tummy— internally screaming at his words.

“thank you gumi…” you spoke softly. “i’m glad at least you don’t see an issue with it.”

“i don’t.” he shook his head. “i don’t at all.”

he loved it.

the rest of your lunch date was spent with megumi still not letting you steal the greece trinket magnet from the wall, you scolding him for the bags under his eyes, and him buying you two more slices of coffee cake to go no matter how many times you told him it was okay, the both of you gathering your things and going back to his car after a bit for him to drop you off back home.

“i’ll be here in the morning to take you to class.” he said gently, turning the corner and nearing your street.

“what? isn’t the division series game tomorrow?” you asked, taken aback. “gumi no just get as much sleep as you can it’s a big day. i can take myself.”

he looked at you boredly.

“no.”

“guumiii!”

he pulled into your driveway and shifted his gear into park, the corners of his mouth turned upward into a little goofy grin.

“i can take you baby it’s fine,” he pushed gently. “don’t worry.”

“you’ve been stressed though… and tired.”

you unbuckled your seatbelt and reached over, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in as he immediately leaned in and tucked his face into your neck, breathing in your honeyed perfume and letting himself slump into your soft frame.

“please promise me that after the division series, you’ll rest up like crazy before the league championships.” he pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes nearly closing as he sleepily blinked. “okay?”

“league championships? didn’t know we already won.” he murmured.

you giggled. “obviously. you’re my cool baseball man, are you not?”

he tiredly grinned and pressed a sweet sweet kiss to your cheek, him biting down on it after and making you yelp before snickering and pulling away.

“bye gumi,” you quickly grabbed a slice of coffee cake and placed it on his leg. “here eat this on the way home so you don’t fall asleep.”

he chuckled and watched as you grabbed your things, hopped out, and ran across the front of his car, leaning your head in through his open window once you reached him and pressing your soft lips to his, megumi fucking melting at the feeling.

you pulled apart and he pecked you one last time— a series of i love you’s iterated before you backed away and waved excitedly from your front door, him waiting until you were inside to reverse, his engine roaring and his black car shining against the moonlight as he sped down the street.

the next morning you got up around the time that you usually did, showered and did your hair and got ready for class, packed your school bag and made your bed—

but megumi hadn’t texted you. like at all.

he usually sent you a good morning text, followed by him letting you know when he was leaving the house, followed by when he was on his way, and followed by when he was just down the street and pulling up.

except you got nothing.

you figured maybe today was just one of those days where he maybe just simply forgot and was already on his way, but as you stood literally outside of your house, gnawing on your thumb and the time coming painfully close to the start of your morning class as you still got nothing from megumi (even when you had texted him multiple times at this point), you started shitting it.

just as you were about to run inside to get the keys to your car, your phone buzzed as a picture of you and megumi flashed across the screen.

megumi!

“hel—”

“baby!—” he breathed out, frantic. “baby i’m sorry i’m so sorry i’m coming okay im down the street—”

“what happened?” you breathed out worriedly, your heart hammering against your chest.

“i overslept!—” he explained quickly. “i’m late to the team’s call time and— and you’re late to class and i— fuck!”

you heard his horn blare and his tires screech as muffled curses flew from his mouth, you jumping at the noise.

“sorry sorry someone cut me off i’m almost there—”

“no gumi go straight to the stadium you’re late!” you spoke firmly. “i can take myself—”

“no but i wanted to see you before the game—”

“it’s fine we can see each other after the game okay? when you win—” you grabbed your keys from the coffee table by your door and ran out, unlocking your car and getting in. “you’re late baby so fucking late please turn back this isn’t good coach is gonna chew you out—”

“shit! i know i know—”

“go gumi hang up it’s okay!”

“okay.. fuck okay okay—”

you heard rustling on the other line before he spoke again.

“i love you i’m sorry ill see you after!”

and the line went dead.

you slugged through the rest of your classes as the day felt way fucking longer than it normally did, you desperately just wanting to see megumi and know that he was okay, that he wasn’t in trouble with his coach and the management team for being over an hour late to the division series call time, you on the verge of literal tears multiple times over him.

your best friend and you had planned to get ready for the game together and sport your men’s jerseys from the stands— a girl’s night you were agonizingly looking forward to all freaking month, and so so excited that the day was finally here to support and be present for the making of yet another year for the boys’ team.

“and then he hung up. i thought he was gonna get into a wreck man—”

you ran your fingers through your styled hair in your vanity mirror, your best friend readjusting her jersey behind you— ‘itadori’ in big capital letters on the back.

“megumi is the most hard headed mean stubborn man i have ever come across in my life.” she searched around in her makeup bag, pulling out her lip liner and reapplying next to you. “i don’t know how many times you told him to sleep and get some rest. and yuji too! he hasn’t stopped talking about him since the schedule change and now i’m starting to think he’s in love with him.”

you laughed loudly.

“i know…” you sighed anxiously through your nose, nervous clammy jitters in your chest. “his eye bags have gotten so bad this past week.”

“i think it’s because he’s been practicing over time.”

you stopped.

“what do you mean?”

she looked at you quizzically. “i thought you knew? yuji told me that the higher ups had a meeting with megumi and told him that they were expecting him to bring the world series home.”

she popped the lid back on her lip liner and threw it in her bag. “he practices all night on the field until like four am.”

“what the fuck?” your eyes narrowed. “he never told me that? he picks me up for my seven am class everyday… that means he’s only been getting what— like two and a half hours of sleep this past week?”

she stopped. “he didn’t tell you?”

“no!” you exclaimed. “when was this meeting?”

“at the start of last week.”

“oh my god.” you grumbled.

why didn’t he tell you?

“that’s fucked up.” she shook her head. “talk to him about that after babe… i don’t know why this man didn’t tell you something like that.”

“i would’ve never let him pick me up for class if i knew this was going on…” you gloomily fiddled with the buttons on your jersey. “or hang out with me after practice.”

and why the hell were the higher ups demanding so much from megumi? why were they burning him out with a responsibility so huge as to ensuring the success of the team for the world series? that wasn’t fair to him. that wasn’t fair at all.

your girl friend hugged you comfortingly.

“it’s fine don’t worry about it okay?… just talk to him after.”

once at the stadium, you and your best friend squeezed and pushed through the crowd to get to the v.i.p. section, the both of you sweating and panting over having run across the stadium’s parking lot and the main area, all because your best friend couldn’t decide which way to do her hair, and because you couldn’t decide if you should wear a skirt or jeans.

you ended up choosing for each other and calling it a day.

“hey! you guys!”

you both snapped your heads up and you recognized the source of the voice as one of the assistant crew members of the team, jogging up to you guys with two devices in his hands.

“you guys want these radios or are you good? they’re connected to the announcers and have earbuds!”

“oh i’ll take one! thank you!” you answered politely, smiling as he passed you and your best friend a radio.

you pushed the earbud into your left ear and sat.

the crowd was buzzing and cheering with excitement, flashes of light shimmering throughout the sold out stadium as many held up posters and signs or bobble heads, you smiling wide every time you spotted a few of megumi’s face and name.

the air was warm, and every kind of news reporter, publicist, and journalist was present on the sidelines as they filmed and interviewed several players from the opposing team.

“let’s play ball!”

the crowed roared, claps and whistles ringing through the air as yuji walked out from the dugout, the both of you screaming as the rest of the team followed suit, your shoulders evidently relaxing at the sight of megumi jogging out into position looking absolutely jaw dropping in his clean cut uniform and cap, serious and focused.

as the game ensued, it was no surprise that the boys’ team was absolutely demolishing the opposing players, megumi doing fucking stellar out on the field as he caught ball after ball with his glove, the announcers commentary certainly helping with explaining the context of the game due to your lack of knowledge, but you trying your hardest anyways to understand on your own.

and finally after a while of switching sides and megumi hitting like a greek god, the teams switched sides what seemed like the final time since it was almost the nine inning, his turn to hit.

“walking up to base now… number eighteen— megumi fushiguro!”

the crowd went fucking insane as he walked up, you immediately standing and screaming over the railing as he took his position up there— swinging soft faux hits before properly adjusting his footing on the loose dirt, fans waving around their fushiguro banners or his baseball cards as he settled.

the bags under his eyes…

you gnawed anxiously at your bottom lip. his team was so close to moving on to the league championships…

“and the pitcher throws….”

hit!

“strike one!”

megumi screwed his eyes shut and grimaced, shaking his head furiously as he shook the nerves from his body and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

“oh!” the announcers groaned. “looks like megumi fushiguro missed a hit for the first time in history!”

for the first time?

you whipped your head around to face your girl friend. “for the first time?”

she looked at you with the same terrorized expression.

“fuck i knew he always hit but i didn’t know he never missed…” you whined worriedly. “he’s exhausted man i can see it look—”

megumi’s footing slightly slipped from the dirt as he positioned himself, getting ready for the next swing.

“and the pitcher throws again…”

hit!

“strike two!”

“fuck!” megumi roared, walking off the home plate and chucking his bat to the wall— the wood flying and clattering as it hit the ground, your eyes widening in horror.

“woah looks like fushiguro got another strike and.. needs to take a breather off the field..?”

“if megumi doesn’t get this next hit, they’re done!” your girl friend shook her head, eyes wide and afraid. “the other team is gonna take it!”

you ran your fingers through your hair exasperatedly, frantically looking at the scoreboard and back at megumi who was pacing a little off the plate with his head down, his hands on his hips.

“fushiguro!” you spotted yuji yelling from the dugout. “get back on the plate! we could get flagged!”

megumi’s chest heaved as he picked up his bat and wiped off the dirt, walking back over to the home plate and repositioning himself.

cameras flashed and recorded as he tried to get back into focus, news reporters talking their asses off and journalists scribbling god knows what— as they just earned themselves their biggest headline of the season.

megumi fushiguro missed his first hit in playing history.

“and the pitcher throws…”

hit!

“oh there it goes! looks like a fair ball!”

the crowd rallies as megumi books it over the first two bases, everyone watching as the ball hits over the outfield fence as he fucking dashes across the remaining two bases like nothing, earning himself a home run—

and scoring a spot in the league championship games for his team.

you and your best friend jump for complete joy, throwing your arms around each other and swaying as fans all around you celebrated and cheered just like the both of you, you happily watching the players from the dugout run up and engulf megumi in a group hug, jumping and laughing.

as the crowd began to disperse and take leave, you both quickly ran down the steps and to the field, you immediately spotting megumi and running up to him with your arms out.

“gumi!”

he noticed you and extended his arms, but his face read nothing as you jumped into them.

“good job good job! you did so amazing!”

“nice fushiguro!” yuji nudged his shoulder. “you brought us through!”

“i missed the first two hits.”

he set you back down.

yuji shrugged. “so? it happens. i do it all the time! you made a home run and scored us the league.”

megumi only silently nodded, his face to the ground as you told yuji and your best friend that you would see them in the locker rooms with everybody else.

and once everyone had cleared out from the field, you turned to him.

“hey…” you started. “what’s wrong?”

his eyes remained glued to the dirt.

“i missed the first two hits.”

your shoulders deflated. “you heard what yuji said… it’s okay. it was bound to happen but it’s fine because you fixed it—”

“we were on thin fucking ice today.”

his snippy tone took you by surprise a bit.

“yes… but you made it...” you responded softly. “you all pulled through. especially you.”

he scoffed and shook his head, him finally raising his baggy eyes and looking to the side, pissed.

“i almost cost us the league. that’s what i did.”

“gumi—” you exhaled a frustrated breath. “you literally played like a machine the entire time and had other hits that were amazing? i don’t understand why two little strikes—”

his eyes snapped to yours. “two little strikes?” he shook his head again. “two strikes too fucking many.”

“what is your issue?—”

“my issue is that if i fucked up that third hit it would’ve been all over. we would’ve lost the division, lost the league, and lost the world series, all because i don’t know how to fucking play ball—”

“yes you do! you’re being way too hard on yourself baby you need to take a breather and rest—”

“how many times have you nagged me about that already.” he spat.

you froze.

“nagged?” you repeated softly.

“yes. you’ve told me enough times i get it i need rest, i need sleep, i need this i need that—”

“i’m saying that because look at you!” you motioned with your hands, feeling potential tears prickling at the back of your eyes at the way he was speaking to you. “your under eyes are dark and purple, your eyes are red you look exhausted!”

“and i told you i’m fine!” he raised his voice a bit. “you wouldn’t understand the shit that i have to do for this team the shit i have to pull and i gave them absolute garbage today—”

“oh my god megumi!” you snapped. “your team is a team effort! it’s not just you! you’re not the only one pulling the stops so enough with trying to take on this load and overwork yourself! please you played amazing today everyone was cheering so loud for you and—”

“stop talking.”

you paused.

“just—” he rubbed his tired eyes and turned to the side. “just please stop talking.”

stop… talking?

he struck a chord, and you felt your heart literally break at his words, an aching heavy pit in your chest as you recounted his yelling and snappiness when all you were trying to do was help him.

thats all you’ve ever tried to do for megumi really— help him, support him, and love him. but for him to throw it all back in your face and say you didn’t understand? for you to basically shut up?

tears were slipping past your eyes at this point, and when you felt like megumi finally bothered to look at you in the face, his eyes widened and his shoulders dropped.

“baby—”

“and what about you?”

he stopped. “about me—”

“yes about you. you’re saying i don’t understand anything you’re fucking going through, as if i haven’t followed you through your career since the moment we met and before that, like i haven’t supported you on the sidelines and asked you question after question about your games just so i can fucking understand—”

“no i—”

you cut him off. “and then you’re here— yelling at me, telling me off, and telling me to shut up when i’m the only one fucking standing here with you after the game trying to be there for you?!—”

“baby— fuck i’m sorry okay i didn’t mean—”

you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t mean it. didn’t mean what? to accidentally let it slip that you actually do think i’m a blabbermouth?”

he was taken aback as his eyebrows furrowed, shaking his head desperately. “no— no that’s not what i meant at all y/n i’m sorry. i’ve been so stressed and tired and i’m taking it all out on you right now and— and that’s not okay and not an excuse.”

megumi quickly stepped forward and placed his hands on your face, but you pushed him away, hurt flashing across his eyes as you did so.

“and why didn’t you tell me about the meeting huh? the one with the higher ups last week?”

surprise crossed his face. “how did you—”

“doesn’t matter how i heard it. why didn’t you tell me? do you understand how that makes me feel when i have to find out through someone else and not my own boyfriend?”

he ran a hand through his spiky black hair and sighed exhaustedly.

“i didn’t tell you because i knew you would be upset about it and i didn’t want you to worry—”

“so you just chose to keep it from me that’s real nice.” you spat. “of course i wouldn’t be happy with it they’re stripping you down and exploiting you! how could they say that it’s all on you to bring it home for the world series? do you understand how insane that sounds?”

“i know but i can’t tell them anything i just have to say yes!” he explained.

“you have every right to tell them something! and if you would’ve communicated this with me like you should’ve done, i wouldn’t have let you lose so much sleep over me and maybe you wouldn’t have played the way you think you played, and you wouldn’t be standing here shitting all over me!”

he really struck a chord.

“y/n—”

“bye megumi.”

his breath hitched.

“no— hey don’t do that—”

he scrambled after you as you made your way out of the field, him quickly catching up and tugging you into him with his long arms around your shoulders, bringing your back to his front as he ducked his face down.

“let’s fix it please we need to fix this—”

“i want to be alone right now, megumi.” you mumbled.

god he hated how many times you’ve called him that already tonight, feeling like the biggest asshole to ever grace your precious life.

“no i don’t want you to be upset with me please—”

“we can talk later on the phone.” your tone was lifeless. “i just need to be alone.”

he faltered, feeling gutting pain cascade all over his body as he hesitantly, slowly, slipped his arms away and released you.

“o—okay.”

he watched you walk up the stands and to the exit as you clutched yourself, his eyes catching the back of your jersey reading his last name that sent an immediate pang through his chest, your frame disappearing from his view and leaving him in his stupid thoughts as he snatched his cap off from his head and threw it to the side in frustration.

that night megumi tried to call you but you didn’t pick up, you barely even answering his texts as he wallowed in self pity alone in his apartment.

and you hadn’t stopped crying since the moment your tears hit on the field— hurt and exhausted and guilty as you settled into bed, unable to bring yourself to call him and go through with your word, deciding to text instead.

(you): i’m really tired i’m sorry. i’ll see if i can call you in the morning.

megumi took no time at all to respond.

(gumi <3): can i take you to class tomorrow?

(you): i don’t think that’s a good idea

he swallowed the lump in his throat and fought back the urge to fight it, wanting to respect you and your space.

but you only kept crying.

(gumi <3): okay

(you): goodnight

(gumi <3): goodnight pretty baby

just as you were about to place your phone back on your nightstand, it buzzed again.

(gumi <3): i love you i’m sorry

you sniffled and put your phone away officially, choosing not to respond.

the following week leading up to the league championship game, megumi spent every waking moment trying to make it up to you, trying to fix it, but you only seemed to stay away from him and distance yourself, something that hurt megumi like no other.

you felt like it was your fault he played the way he did that day. if you had been smarter, more mindful, you would’ve noticed that the intensity of his exhaustion was extremely abnormal, and perhaps you could’ve done something about it before it was too late and saved yourself the dreadful fight you had with him.

you hated the way you spoke to him, and you fully convinced yourself that you only served as a distraction for him, opting to keeping your distance as far away as possible so it allowed megumi to get his head focused again and ensure a promised route to the world series— something you had hoped to be there to witness, but deeming his success way more important than your needs at this point in time.

so you stopped going to all of his practices following that day, the fact tormenting megumi as you always went to each and every single one and was there for him without fault— rain or shine, always waiting for him in the locker rooms when he was finished.

but you weren’t there anymore. and each day you weren’t was another day megumi would spend angry and frustrated with himself that he did what he did. he knew your defense mechanism was pushing people away, and your current behavior gave him flashbacks to the time last year when he was falling for you and you kept running away from him, scared— those actions a carbon copy of what’s happening now, except far worse.

and he did that to you. he yelled at you and snapped at you, told you to stop talking for some fucking reason that he still couldn’t find the proper explanation for… and he made you cry. so much. your usual sweet honeyed voice you spoke to him with long gone since that day.

and he missed you. more than anything.

“you stupid—” throw “self absorbed—” throw “asshole—” throw “narcissistic—” throw—

“okay that’s enough that’s enough!”

yuji pulled your best friend back as she chucked towel after towel at megumi following one of their practices, her absolutely fuming.

he took every hit, not bothering to dodge. he deserved it.

“she told me what you did—” she shook herself away from yuji’s grip. “what the hell is the matter with you? how could you yell at her like that on the field? when all she’s ever done is love you—”

“i know.” megumi mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “i know i’m really sorry. i regret it.”

“fuck yeah you should,” she scoffed. “that woman’s been cooped up every day in her room bawling her eyes out over you!”

yuji nodded sadly, and megumi let out a pained breath as he closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, propping his elbows on his knees, leaning forward.

“fuck me…”

“yeah fuck you—”

“okay! okay. he’s already down let him bleed out.” yuji muttered to her as he rubbed his hands over her arms soothingly, an attempt at calming her down.

he looked at him. “megumi, you and i both know that she understands you were frustrated that day. the both of you. if you just talk to her—”

“you think i haven’t tried?” megumi picked his head up, and the both of them froze at the way his eyes glossed over.

“i’ve— i’ve called her, i’ve texted her, i drove by her house but she’s never there, fuck i even went to her campus at seven in the morning but couldn’t find her.”

he took his cap off and roughly rubbed over his eyes again.

your best friend sighed then after a moment, slowly stepping forward and sitting down next to him on the bench.

“she’ll come around megumi.” she mumbled. “just give her some time. i know it’s hard, but she really really loves you.” she sighed deeply. “she’ll come around.”

megumi nodded solemnly, and yuji stepped forward, patting his shoulder.

“you okay man?”

he nodded again.

missed phone calls, lagging dry texts, and last minute cancellations from you all happened for a week straight.

and when the time finally came for the league championships, megumi wanted nothing more than for you to be there as he stared at his messy fucking locker when prepping for the game— another reminder that you hadn’t been around, and another reminder that you wouldn’t be here tonight to see him, something he completely did not blame you for.

luckily, the league championship game was at their home base once more, and as the crowd got settled to watch, energies heightened as the players all got settled over the field to play ball— megumi shook the nerves from his body as he focused with the game, and you, on his mind like a religion.

and as the game ran on with the team scoring run after run, another win was blatantly obvious for them— megumi entirely unaware of your presence that was watching him the entire time in the stands.

you couldn’t help yourself. you needed to be there to watch him, needed to see him take home another achievement like that, regardless of where you both stood as you watched from just above the v.i.p section, shivering like an idiot because you forgot to bring a jacket after deciding to wear a flowy tube top for the day, but excited for him nonetheless.

you didn’t tell a single soul you were coming, not even your best friend as you just wanted to see megumi again before running off into the shadows of your embarrassing despair, missing him like fucking crazy and nearly sobbing when you saw him walk out on the field at the start, but even more emotional to the fact that they were actually going to move on to the world series by the looks of it.

and the crowd hollered eventually as the speakers blasted megumi’s teams signature song—

finalizing their spot in the world series.

your eyes glowed as you watched his team run up on the field and tackle each other down, literally rolling in the dirt as you giggled to yourself— sighing contently and about to turn and walk out of the stadium to go home when a strong rough hand wrapped around your bare upper arm.

“you’re fushiguro’s girl! aren’t you?”

you snapped your head up and saw someone you recognized as one of megumi’s crew members for the team, and you relaxed, trusting him.

“oh! yeah i am!”

“sweet! i just got hired to be on the crew a couple of weeks ago.”

“that’s great!” you answered politely, smiling. “how is—”

“listen i was wondering if i could get any tickets to the world series from you?”

what.

“um—” your eyes darted around awkwardly. “for— for the world series?—”

“yeah! i took this job so i could get some but apparently i need to be working longer than three weeks. dumb.”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek as your eyes drifted downward to your arm.

he still hadn’t let go.

“oh i’m sorry.” you mumbled. “i could— i could maybe get you one? one for sure!”

he shook his head. “shit sorry, i need like five.”

“five?!” you gawked. “i can’t get you five i’m really sorry… i can only maybe get you one.”

his eyes narrowed. “why not? you’re fushiguro’s girl are you not?”

“yes but what does that have to do with me getting you tickets to the world series?” you spoke nervously, trying to put on a brave front as his height literally towered over you.

“why don’t you ask him for tickets? he’s literally megumi fushiguro i’m sure he can cough up some—”

you scoffed.

“i’m not gonna ask him anything for you just because you want to use me to get tick—”

“so then what the fuck are you with him for?” his grip tightened around your arm as he pulled you a little, and you winced.

“let go of me!—”

megumi considered himself a relatively calm person throughout his life.

he knew he had his explosive rude moments here and there, him also accidentally offending people unknowingly with his words, but that behavior only stayed on the field as it pertained to the game at hand or with baseball itself, his life outside of that a treasured tranquil one as he spent his days with you and only you, something he looked forward to every waking moment since the day he met you.

but as he heard your little voice through the yelling of the crowd, instantly recognizing it and picking up on its distressed demeanor— his body did a full one-eighty as his eyes frantically searched for you through the mass of people.

and once he did spot you? your breathtaking little self being manhandled by some fucking moron who had his hand around your upper arm?

he didn’t consider himself a relatively calm person anymore.

megumi quickly snatched his cap off and passed it to a confused yuji and your best friend, sprinting at the speed of light across the field and to the fence of the v.i.p. section before hoisting himself up and climbing, jumping over once he reached the top and landing on the stands— him running up a few steps before finally reaching you and tearing the guy off.

“get the fuck off.”

he gently pushed you behind him, his chest heaving.

“the shit are you doing hurting her arm like that for huh?!” megumi stepped forward.

“hey! hey i’m sorry man i— i didn’t know i was hurting her—”

“sure you fucking did she was literally telling you to let go and you were throwing her around like—”

“megumi please—”

“are you part of the crew?”

“y—yeah?”

“you’re gone. you’re fired you’re—”

“wait i’m sorry! i was just trying to get tickets to the world series—”

megumi’s eyes blew open, wild and infuriated.

“that’s why you were grabbing her like that? you were harrassing her for some fucking ticke— you know what—”

megumi stepped forward before you could stop him as he reeled his fist back and knocked him straight in the jaw, the guy stumbling back a bit and the crowd gasping before megumi spun around and grabbed your legs, throwing you over his shoulder.

“get the fuck out of my way.”

the small crowd that stuck around for the altercation parted with no questions asked, his long legs striding over across the exit and to the teams now vacant locker room— kicking the door open before gently setting you down on your feet.

he ran his hands over your soft hair frantically as he grabbed your cheeks and checked you over, your teary doe eyes breaking him apart.

“hey are you okay? are you fine?”

megumi let go of your face and gently lifted your upper arm, his eyes hardening at the purple forming bruise from that dickwads hand.

“he’s gone he’s gone—”

you lunged and wrapped your arms around his waist tightly as he started to charge back out, pulling him back.

“no! stop it’s okay you already hit him i think he got the message.” you mumbled, letting him go.

megumi turned to you then, his eyes softening over your timid sad frame as you played with your fingers, gaze down.

“y/n.”

“hm?”

he frowned.

“can you please look at me.”

you listened reluctantly and peered up at him.

he exhaled. “baby i— i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry for everything that i said to you that night. i meant none of it. nothing. i was just angry at myself and stressed and stupid and i hate that i talked to you like that and took it out on you. you didn’t deserve that at all.”

you hurriedly wiped your silent tears— nodding, but saying nothing.

he leaned down to look at you at eye level.

“are you okay?”

you nodded again and sniffled.

“talk baby.” he pleaded with you gently, eyes sad. “tell me, please.”

you cowered a little as you finally broke into tiny sobs, your hands hovering over your face to hide your tears as he placed his big hands on your upper arms, megumi feeling like he just got run over by an entire military tank at the sight of you crying because of him.

“i—i’m sorry i yelled at you—” you hiccuped. “i was so mean and i f—feel really bad—”

“baby why are you apologizing?” he shook his head. “it’s me it’s all me i’m the one who was mean to you—”

“no but—” you sniffled. “you were just stressed from the game like you said and that’s fine i should’ve been more aware. i didn’t mean to upset you with me talking—”

“oh pretty baby..” he breathed out, agonizingly, megumi literally beating himself up. “remember when i said one time you were too nice for your own good?”

you nodded.

“this is one of those moments. you should be yelling at me and throwing things at me like your best friend did.”

your eyebrows furrowed as you sniffled. “she— she did?”

“she did.” he nodded. “rightfully so.”

you giggled a little, and he smiled softly.

“i’m sorry i distanced myself the way i did…” you mumbled, a waterfall of tears coming down again. “i just thought that i was a distraction and— and i wanted you to focus.”

“a distraction?” he murmured. “y/n you are never a distraction.”

“no but at the end of the day i was…” you sobbed. “you need to be there for your team you have—“ hic! “you have responsibilities and i don’t want you to put me above that and— and keep hanging out with me when you have so much to do—”

“something you need to understand is that i’m replaceable.” he cut you off, tone firm. “the minute they find some other dude that’s way better than me and quicker than me and they draft his ass over to the team? they are going to replace me faster than you will ever think. that’s just the way jobs are. i’m replaceable no matter how much you wanna think it’s not true.”

he shook his head, his face pained. “but you are not. you’re not fucking replaceable there is no other you. you are my life now baby. yes my career is a priority, but so are you, and i would rather them replace me than lose you entirely.”

he wiped the tears from your cheeks, your doe eyes wide.

“i appreciate that you care so much and you support me and that you want me to devote all of my time to only this— you’re an angel on earth for all of that… but as your man i’m telling you that all of my time is devoted to you now, not just baseball.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him closer to you, tight, him immediately reciprocating and snaking his arms around your waist.

he could finally breathe.

“do you understand?” he murmured softly, rubbing his hands over your back soothingly.

you nodded.

“but you can’t— wear yourself out like you did okay?” you sniffled. “you can’t let them push you and tire you out… and please listen when we say for you to rest…”

“i know i’m sorry. i’ll listen next time baby i promise.”

“i get you trying to improve for yourself and push your limits… but— but there’s a difference between wanting to better your play and straight up wearing yourself down.”

you pulled back a little to look at him, wiping your tears and hiccuping. “and i worry man… i worry so much because i—“ hic! “i love you and i always think about if you’re eating right or— or getting enough sleep—”

his heart literally melted as he felt the remains of it ooze and spread all over his body and insides, your pure sweet concerns tugging at him and turning him into absolute putty before you.

he tightened his grip around your waist and lifted you, gently rocking your bodies as you sniffled and cried, his eyes screwed shut and feeling every possible emotion a human being could ever feel… but feeling love most of all.

love for you. love for who you are.

megumi kissed your wet cheek delicately and let his lips linger there as he spoke.

“i’m in love with you…” he murmured. “i hope you know that.”

your heart fluttered and you nodded, a little smile playing at your face.

“i’m in love with you too gumi.” you hummed, pressing a sweet kiss of your own to his cheek.

he set you back down and cupped your cheeks, slowly leaning in and pressing light tender kisses to your lips, his mouth completely savoring over the taste of yours as he had been deprived of them for a freaking week— feeling like his dried up soul had been rejuvenated and made anew.

and you felt the same way… because you deepened the kiss, picked up the pace, pulled him closer until his chest was flush against yours and your hot breaths were mixed together in a misty cloud, megumi breathing heavily through his nose as he ran his needy desperate hands over your delicious body.

he trailed wet open mouthed kisses on your cheek, jaw, and all the way down to the side of your exposed neck, his hand supporting the other side as he feverishly licked a slow long stripe of spit up your neck with his rough tongue, your fists gripping the sides of his jersey as he nibbled and bit, his lips finally coming to enclose and suck around a certain spot as your breath hitched at how frenzied and sloppy he was being, drool practically running down your neck as he ravished, bit, and sucked over multiple areas.

you shoved your hands down his pants suddenly, and he choked in surprise as his hips thrusted forward, your fingers pumping and palming his hardened cock slowly as his breath shuddered against your neck.

“baby...” he murmured.

“hm?”

“how would you feel if i turned on the shower and fucked my cock in your pretty little cunt for a bit in there huh?…”

a needy whimper slipped past your lips against his ear, and he grew weak.

“is that okay—”

“more than okay—”

you squealed as he wasted no time in picking you up again and walking over to the showers, the both of you clumsily tearing off your clothes as megumi fumbled with the shower switch until luke warm water spritzed from above— entrapping the both of you in a humid trance as megumi squeezed your bare thighs and ushered you to jump, you doing so immediately and wrapping your legs around his waist.

he stepped in and literally slammed the shower door shut, the two of you giggling a little as the soothing water washed over your panting bodies, the sight of his handsome bright face making your cheeks flush and bury your face in his neck in response.

he chuckled softly, gently setting your back against the wet tile wall before kissing you again and again, his mouth messy against your puffy lips as he tried to drink up all that you gave him, the tip of his cock slipping past your folds and brushing against your swollen clit— each time making you squeak and jump.

you didn’t care about anything, your mind reeling and just wanting megumi’s dick inside of you as soon as possible, knowing that you’d never really had sex before and literally not giving a single shit because it was him— someone you trusted the most out of anyone in your life, and someone you wanted to give your all to no matter the circumstance.

he lined his fat tip then against your drooling hole.

“wait! wait the door—“ you gripped his shoulders for support. “the door did you lock it?”

“nope.”

megumi pushed his cock in slowly and gently, your choked gasps and moans echoing inside the shower as his head fell to rest in the crook of your hickey covered neck, him groaning in ecstasy as your gummy warm pussy strangled his dick to the tightest degree, already previously so wet and gushy that it thankfully barely hurt you at all as he bottomed out.

“fuuuckk— you’re warm.” he murmured, gripping your hips like a vice and softly caressing his thumb against your slippery skin to soothe you— hoping (but not really), you’d maybe release the clutch your pussy had on his dick to stop him from already shooting his cum all over your insides like a loser.

he slowly drew his hips back and fucked into you again, you jolting at the force as you fumbled to keep your grip steady on his shoulders, his cock fucking thick and massive as his little curve poked deliciously at your cervix, him gradually increasing his pace as you shuddered over the quick pat pat pat’s echoing through the walls.

“g—gumiii..” you whined.

“what baby?” he mumbled breathlessly, his eyes glued to where his dick connected with your hole as it slipped in and out lewdly, your pussy literally squelching and screaming for him with your bouncing tits in his face that made him clench his jaw in self restraint— trying his hardest not to fucking ram into you like nothing and take you.

“y—you’re biigg!” you hiccuped, your little gasps of breath enticing droplets of cum to leak out of his tip and ooze out of your little wet folds, megumi moaning at your words.

“yeah?” pat pat pat— “s’too much for you baby?”

he picked up the pace, on purpose as he meanly bounced you on his cock and shot his hips up against your pussy, his big heavy balls slapping against your ass and making your eyes fucking cross at the feeling.

“tell me you love me.” he panted. “now.”

“i—“ hic! “i love you—”

megumi grabbed your cheeks with his fingers and mushed them together, grinning deviously at the way your pouty lips pushed out cutely.

“how much.”

“s—so- ah!— so much gumi—”

“more— shit!” he choked, a particular squeeze from your abused cunt almost making him finish. “m— more than anything?”

slap slap slap—

“y—yes!—” you could barely even speak due to the erotic hold he had on your face. “i love you i love you i love—”

you squealed as he let go of your face, gave into his desires and rammed into you, both hands on your bruised hips as he gave your pussy no room to breathe with how fast he was shoving his fat cock inside of you, pounding and pummeling into your guts as your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt your release build up in your tummy.

“why were you asking me about the door earlier huh?” he panted. “you don’t want anyone to see how much of a” thrust! “slut you are? your legs spread for me like this and your pretty pussy creaming on my dick?”

you whined and moaned so fucking loudly, it ringing through megumi’s ears like a wicked symphony.

he pinched your nipple when you didn’t respond.

“answer me.”

thrust thrust thrust—

“n—no i didn’t!”

“no?”

he gripped your neck and sloppily ran his mouth over yours, feeling his cum on the brink of shooting out.

“m’gonna cum inside.”

“in— mmphf!— inside?”

“you don’t want it?” he let go of your neck. “cause i won’t give it to you if you don’t want it—”

“i do i do!” you scrambled and cupped his cheeks, bringing his lips back in and kissing him messily.

“give it to me gumi please!—“ hic! “eeekkk!”

hot sticky cum pumped out of his tip and into your gushy walls, your high making your toes curl as you creamed around his heavy cock feverishly, megumi’s entire body fucking shivering at the way your pussy felt like it was entirely made and molded for him.

he softly pumped himself inside and out of you, his mouth hung open in a daze as he watched his white cum slide out of your pretty hole and over his still connected dick, gently easing out after a minute and carefully setting you back down— not completely though, as he knew you’d be sore as he leaned most if not all of your body weight against him.

you held each other in a tight embrace then, your heavy breaths trying to find its normal rhythm as the warm water continued to cascade down your bodies, comfortingly.

“why don’t we have sex more often...” you mumbled.

he laughed softly, pecking the side of your head. “i was waiting for you to tell me baby. i didn’t want to pressure you.”

“i was waiting for you to tell me.” you emphasized. “i didn’t want to jump on you and just violate you—”

megumi’s chest vibrated as he laughed again, a cute boyish one that made you bite your lip.

“violate me?” he murmured, an amused smile on his face. “i’d want you to.”

“yeah?” you tilted your head, and his cheeks grew hot.

“yeah.”

finally you and megumi were in sync again, going back into each other’s routines as if the week long hiccup never happened, the both of you officially unraveling the aching knots in your chests that you hauled for seven tormenting days straight— together and attached to the hip once again as he started picking you up for your seven am classes every morning like before, you going to his practices straight after, and spending your hours sleeping in his dark cozy room this time around, snoring your little life away so megumi could recover.

and eventually, the world series arrived.

“my camera! my camera! my digital one did i bring it?!”

you flipped your purse upside down and dumped all of your things on the floor— your lip combo, compact mirror, snacks, random receipts, and small perfume bottle rolling around on the ground until your digital camera was finally in view.

your best friend cackled as she crouched down and helped you pick up your things. “you were taking pictures up megumi’s nose on the two hour drive over here yes you brought it—”

“i know i forgot i’m so nervous what if they lose what if someone fumbles what if—”

you both stood as you rambled on and she placed both of her hands on your shoulders, shaking you. “calm down! they’ll be fine! win or lose they still made it to the world series!”

the crowd roared much like the past two games, except much heavier, louder, more drilling as the music drummed through your body, the air windy but refreshing, and high pitched whistles echoing from around the stadium as everyone anticipated for the biggest game of the season.

you had lost count how many different news stations were here broadcasting the game, how many reporters you saw scrambling across the field trying to interview certain players— you too busy taking pictures of every single little thing and the both of you reapplying your lip liners over a million fucking times— even flagging down a crew member so you could take a picture with just your best friend, your backs to the camera showcasing the last names of your boyfriend’s on your jersey’s.

and when the game officially commenced and the players all went out on the field— megumi and his team did what they always do best, taking control of the scoreboard and earning runs like chump change as they worked professionally to take the trophy home, you constantly snapping pictures of megumi that your digital camera ran out of fucking storage before you even got the shot that you wanted.

eventually after a while of playing, it was megumi’s turn to hit.

“fuck! record for me please record! my camera ran out of storage oh my god use my phone please i love you—”

your best friend laughed as she took your phone from you and did what you asked, your hands on the railing and leaning over it as you anxiously watched him walk up to home plate and take position.

but instead of doing his usual faux swings and repositioned footing, megumi stepped to the side and turned his bat downward, you unable to tell what he was doing as his frame was blocking, his arm moving in various directions before he stepped back again on the home plate and repositioned himself.

your eyes trailed to the ground.

megumi had carved your initials in the dirt.

your girl friend gasped and cooed. “y/nnn!”

as megumi now did his faux swings, your bottom lip only wobbled as your eyes stayed trained to the carvings in the dirt, your heart skipping a thousand beats per minute as the thought of megumi thinking about you out there during one of the most important nights of his life, made you question repeatedly how you ever landed a man like him when all you do is talk and cry.

hit!

your eyes snapped up and you quickly wiped the corners of your eyes, megumi already running across the first two bases as the crowd roared.

“bring it home fushiguro!”

several of his teammates were cheering him on from the dugout, megumi running four runs with just one fucking hit?—

a grand slam.

and suddenly you were taken back to the day you noticed megumi for the first time, just like now with your doe eyes wide and cheeks pink, recognizing the only piece of baseball terminology you knew besides a home run.

except then he was just a stranger you were hopelessly in love with that knew how to play ball like no other.

now though, he’s a man you couldn’t ever imagine your life without. and you didn’t want to.

so as the game reached nine innings, megumi’s team running on the field in a bundle of absolute tears and yells and hollers that they won the world fucking series, all clustering together as they hoisted several players up on their shoulders, including megumi—

you and your best friend instantly booked it down there in a fit of tears.

you had no time to get your personal belongings together as you sprinted across the field like your life fucking depended on it towards megumi— him being put down by his teammates and him frantically looking around after until he spotted you, the brightest smile spreading across his face as he chucked his cap to the side and opened his arms out wide for you.

you jumped in and he spun you around, holding you tight as the screaming crowd surrounding you drowned itself out as you cried into megumi’s neck.

he pulled back, panting.

“did you see how i did a grand slam?”

you nodded rapidly.

“i did it because i knew its the only thing you would recognize!” he yelled over the noise. “so you would feel included when we won!”

oh my god.

he still remembered when you told him that?

“guummiii! how did you even calculate that?!” you cried harder, and he laughed as he spread tiny kisses all over your teary face, his eyes glimmering with absolute unadulterated happiness and bliss, the reality of having the two things he wanted most in life settling into his mind.

megumi didn’t really have a stance on religion— whether the factor is real or not something he didn’t really care about nor mind as he simply just chose to live.

but as he held you on the field, you crying for him and embracing him the way that you were, kissing him the way that you were, megumi only wanted to be covered in your favor. megumi only wanted to devote his entire life to you.

megumi only wanted to believe in you.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

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[bi-writes]

an eye for an eye | knight!ghost x f!reader

your husband bends to your will. men must learn from difficult lessons how far that bending goes.

type: a continuation of a hand for a hand, but can be read stand-alone (11.6k), AO3

cw: 1600s au, dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, graphic depictions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, simon "i'd do anything for my wife no matter the devasting consequences" riley (18+)

Your husband has an insatiable appetite. Such a big man he is; he towers over you, so much so that you must tip your head back always to look up at him. You had to make many arrangements in your house to accommodate his hunger–a pantry stocked full of eggs and less fabric for your skirts.

Your house isn’t like others. Neither you nor Ghost have ever lived in luxury. When he showed you your home for the first time, you had shaken your head–you didn’t believe that such a large place was supposed to be yours, and even now, sometimes you feel like a stranger, out of place when the maids ask you what you want for supper or where you’d like to take your afternoon tea. You don’t like the fuss, the asking, the women that curtsy when you come near, concentrated over the creases in your skirts or the loose thread of your sleeve or the wispy hairs that fall out of your braids. You are told all the time that you must behave like a duchess, that you must poise yourself with your new title and your new money, and you must do the things that duchesses do–but no one says the same to your husband.

He is still allowed to sleep in the barracks. Lick the blood off his gauntlets. Polish his sword in the dirt. He’s still allowed to be everything that you cannot be anymore, he still lives the life he had before.

He still kills; and he is still very, very good at it.

Your queen told you in a letter that the king is very pleased. Ever since your union, Ghost has been quite the conqueror. Bloodthirsty and very determined, your husband has been taking his men across the water. He is not any less impressive off land. Not even the pirates have tried to negotiate; they bend the knee or taste the salt water. You breathe shakily when you read your queen’s letters—her praise for your husband’s conquests, how blessed your family will be and how valuable you are to the crown, how grateful she is that Ghost is no longer a fiend in court but rather a little more polite and a little quieter.

All for your sake. Ghost’s name is now your own, and he refuses to embarrass you now that you have it.

You won’t lie; the bodies that Ghost has stacked since you’ve been wed do not scare you. He’s doing it for you. He has never said it out loud, never told you so, but you know it. He wants to show you what kind man that he is, what kind of soldier—you know he’s trying to prove himself worthy. If he killed a thousand men to have you, how many will he slaughter to keep you?

He sends you letters of his own. Not many, but he does send letters, and while Ghost seems to be ineloquent and entirely too brutish, he has quite the voice when he writes.

To my wife,

The sun falls quicker here. I’d like to come home. Tell me of your day, and I will tell you of mine. There were a fleet of ships that came to meet us at dawn. When we sank three, they begged for us to spare the rest.

I have you to think about now. So I burned them.

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

He signs his real name in his letters. Your eyes skim over most of it–you don’t even blink when he tells you what he does to them. Sometimes he writes in great detail about the screams of a hundred souls, the way burning flesh smells, the taste of dirt in a new place when you know it is finally yours. He doesn’t like having secrets. He tells you all his thoughts, even if they might scare you, because you are his wife, and he has discovered quite quickly that you have been cut from the same cloth.

Even when he is home, and he tells you these things all over again, he can’t help the way his cock hardens when you merely blink and ask him if he has added any scars to his collection.

Ravenous, naughty little duchess, and you are all his. He knows he picked well–he knows, he knows he wasn’t wrong when he saw you across the throne room hiding behind his queen, he knows now that he was right about what he saw in your eyes.

You do hate when he’s away. You’re not used to the maids helping you dress, and you secretly abhor the help. That is why when you hear the shuffle of your house early in the morning, your heart thuds in your chest knowing he’s home.

The staff get antsy when Simon is around. He is very good at keeping an estate for someone that has never had to or ever been taught to, but he leaves the responsibilities with you and only you every time he goes. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, and every time he comes back, he makes you sit on one big thigh as he teaches you something new that you need to remember for when he goes away. He demands much of those he employs, and they are eager to please him. Whether it is because they respect him or are afraid of him, you aren’t sure.

Perhaps it’s both.

You sit up as the bedroom door opens. You smile, big and wide and sleepy as he steps into the room. He shuts the door with his boot, slipping his hood off, and you sigh as he grips the clasp of his mask and unhooks it. He tosses it onto the floor, bare-faced, and as he makes his way towards the bed, he sheds the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked.

You cannot stop yourself from the shaky breath you take. He is all muscle and fat, strong and entirely too scary, but it’s hard to focus on what he really is when he stands before you like this. He has fat thighs, big shoulders, carved muscle of intense labor around his middle and along his biceps. He has large hands with calloused palms and split knuckles, and your eyes meet his own as he comes closer. He’s so gorgeous, even with a face like that. He has a long scar that stretches from one brow to his lower jaw, another that cuts his nose and splits his lip, but those eyes are dark and lovely, and you can’t help the warmth that comes over you when he catches you staring at him, closer, right to his cock that hangs heavy between his legs.

Just as he begins to lower himself onto the bed, you hold out a hand, giggling.

“Simon, if you think you are getting into this bed without a proper bath, you’re mistaken!” You laugh, and he raises a brow.

“Mmm…” He smacks his lips together. “Tha’ right, my lady?” He clicks his tongue. “This is my bed. ’s oll mine. Every blanket…every pillow…” He grips your ankle from under the covers and yanks you towards him. “And every part of you.”

You giggle again, shaking your head, “Please, Simon!” You push him away with your toes. “They only changed the sheets yesterday. You’ll dirty them…” You flutter your lashes. “Will you bathe if I join you?”

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

You hold out your hand for him, and he takes it gently. You watch as he brings your knuckles towards his mouth, and you bite back a smile when he decides to kiss each one, slow. He tugs finally, pulling you up, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he hoists you up into his arms. You would worry about your weight normally, but Simon holds you so easily, barely even a grunt as he wraps your legs around his middle. You don’t waste another second, cupping his cheeks in your hands and kissing him softly.

It’s never just a kiss with Simon. He slides one of his hands up your back, into your hair, and you whine as he tips your head back just enough to slip his tongue into your mouth. Simon doesn’t just kiss, he consumes. What he did to get back to you, the things he endured, the places he has seen and the bodies he has buried and burned and scattered across the places he now calls country, it’s always to get back to this place.

To you.

“How’s my boy?” He asks when you pull away. He carries you to another room, to where the tub sits, and he rings a bell by the door to call the maids in. You snatch a robe off a hook and cover him with it as he sits with you, but all he does is put a few fingers under your chin and make you look at him again. “Oi. Asked ya question, luv.”

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

“I…”  You wait until the maids have gone to fetch hot water to tell him. “I bled while you were gone. I…”  You smooth your hands over the robe, distracting yourself. “I’m…I’m sorry, Simon.”

You close your eyes as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours, and you shake a little as he lets out a warm breath against your lips. He moves a warm hand over your soft stomach, cupping you there, and you lean your head back a little at the tender touch.

“It will happen,” he says finally, and your mouth opens to respond, but he sticks his thumb between your lips to shut you up. He doesn’t want to hear you blame yourself. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his, for not being here with you, for not be able to take care of you. You give in, suckling on the salt of him, and he grits his teeth as he watches you. “I know. Seen it in m’dreams.”

Simon has dreams. Lots of dreams, but he tells you that they are not dreams, they are glimpses into something that has already happened. When you asked if he was some kind of seer, the kind that the king used to have at parties, Simon doesn’t laugh.

He says the dreams are why he knows he won’t die. Why he is never afraid, because he knows somewhere behind his eyes what’s to come even if he didn��t see the entire painting of it. It is why he knew he would marry you; it is why he paid you so much attention, why he knew he would win his battles, why he always knows whose blood it is in his mouth because he has tasted their death before and relishes in the knowing of it all, in the certainty.

It’s never I think, it is always I know, and Simon is nothing if he is not the most honest man that you know.

So if he says you will have his babe, it is as good as truth. As green as the grass grows beneath his feet, as blue as his sky, and as red as the blood that is caked underneath his nails.

When the tub is filled with water, you let Simon sink into it first. You kneel beside it, picking up a glass of oil, pouring it into your palms before sinking your hands into his hair. It’s gotten longer since he left, in need of a cut, but you smile when he leans his head back into your shoulder. You can feel his content as he relaxes into you, and you admire his physique as you use the warm water and scrub the mud and grime off of him.

“I missed you, husband,” you whisper, and he only lets you massage his hair for a few more moments before he grips you by the wrist and tugs you forward, right into the bath. “Simon!” you laugh, “my night dress—oh!—it’s ruined!”

“Too far away,” he mutters, practically ripping the silk off of you as he tosses it besides the bath. “Mmm…” He cups your breasts with two big hands, smoothing his thumbs over your nipples, and you whine a little as he pulls at them just enough to make them stiffen. “Y’should be naked when I come home,” he says lowly. “I’ll soil y’r bloody gown next time, m’lady.”

You giggle, and he smiles. A real smile. As real as he’ll ever give anyone, maybe the only one that anyone has ever even seen. He has never shown his face in court, and while it angers the women and irks the men, you revel in the fact that all of this is only for you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You kiss him softly. The water sloshes, warm and inviting, and sometimes you forget your life used to be anything but joy. A year ago, you would not believe that you would be here, titled, wealthy, in a stone room lit by candles bathing with a blood hungry ghost.

A year ago, you trembled whenever he looked at you. You cowered when you heard his footsteps. What a stupid little girl you had been. What a fool. She had no idea what she could have, the kinds of things she could hold in her hand.

Real power wasn’t being able to command a room with your words. Real power was being able to say anything and have it be believed as truth. Real power was making someone look in one direction and have them see what you see, even if what you see isn’t real.

He lays you down in your bed afterward and eats. Your wet hair soaks the sheets, but you can’t seem to be really bothered as he fits your legs over his shoulders and bends you at the waist, his mouth suctioned to your clit as he eats you slowly. One of his hands is spread out over your tummy, the other you can hear making a squelch as he fists his own cock. It’s slow and methodical, and he slides his tongue between your folds firm, catching what dribbles from you on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it and leans in for more.

He has eaten you in nearly every room in your house. Frightened the cooks tossing you onto the dining table, given a servant a scare as he ducked under your skirts in the library, had the gardeners fleeing as he dropped you onto the grass near the lake and disappeared with a frenzy to eat your cunt during sunrise. It’s maddening, the kind of need that Simon requires, but it’s hard to refuse when you feel so warm and bubbly and happy after he’s finished. A pampered princess you are, never lifting a finger, only awake long enough when he’s home to eat until you’re full and cum until you fall asleep again.

Maybe that’s why you’re not pregnant yet. Simon likes to be here, between your thighs, mouth fixed on your wet pussy until he’s practically exhausted himself with a sore jaw and lax tongue.

He kisses you sloppy after. Licking into your mouth, practically spitting onto your tongue, wanting you to taste—tastes so good, luvvie, don’t ya see, yeah?—wanting you to know why he’s so eager to be on his knees all the time.

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

“’s not what I really want,” is all you whimper, and he nods, because he knows, he always knows.

“I know, luv. I know wot ya really need.”

“I must be broken,” you sob, cradling his face in your hands, and he shakes his head.

“Not broken,” Simon assures you. He speaks so surely that it’s hard not to believe him. “It wasn’t time.”

“You can’t see the future, Simon! You don’t know!” You cry, and he snarls a little, shaking his head again.

“You listen t’me,” he growls. You shake a little as he grabs your face with one hand, fixing your jaw under his grip as he holds onto you firmly. “Wot I say goes. Y’r my wife, so listen t’me, and listen t’me good. Y’r not broken. Not time. Say it back t’me.”

Your lip trembles, and he rattles your head a little.

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

“It’s not time,” you whisper, and he plants a fat kiss onto your tear-soaked lips.

“Just need my cock, luv,” he murmurs. “Tha’s oll. Just need me t’fuck it outta ya.”

You nod, pressing your face to his, and he tuts, reaching down and spreading your legs wide to accommodate him between them as he lays over you.

“’s oll y’need,” he repeats, and you nod again.

You have to take another bath in the same morning; and this time, you weren’t able to walk there.

You like when Simon is home because it’s quiet. The only one that dotes on you here is Simon. The maids do not dress you or do your hair or moisturize your skin. It’s always Simon.

You smile at him in the mirror as you sit at your vanity. He has a brush in one hand, and he’s using it delicately to detangle your hair how you like. His hands are practiced and gentle, and when he finishes, he leans over you as he starts to part your hair to braid it. He did not have sisters, but his mother had him always do her hair after she lost the use of her hands with age. You don’t know where his mother is, but you assume she is not here anymore, because he never invites you to meet her.

He oils your skin. He slips the robe off of you, revealing your damp skin from the bath, and he slathers oil in his hands before using it to soften your skin. He takes his time, smoothing those big hands over your shoulders, down your back, along your arms. You tilt your head back when he warms your breasts, squeezing and fondling your tits. He murmurs in your ear the entire time, and he has to fuck you with his fingers to quiet you when he stops because just his hands on your tits has you wet all over again.

He dresses you, too. Helps you slip into your undergarments, fastens the cage for your skirts over your hips. He ties them skillfully, and after he layers your skirts over the farthingale, he gets you into your corset. It’s intimate as he does this. Even with your wide skirt, he comes closer, over your shoulder, and he tugs at the laces at your back, pulling it tight with firm grunts. You sigh when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hand skimming over your breasts as they sit nice and perky between stiff fabric and whalebone.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, unnerving…the way ya look…”

You close your eyes, “S-Simon, please…I’m already dressed…”

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

But when he has to leave again, you nearly come with him. You fasten his armor for him, help him slip each piece of leather on and click every piece of metal into place. You tie his cloak and slip his mask on, and you try and duck your head when you flip his hood up, but he catches you, tilting your chin up.

He huffs when he sees your face. Tears sliding down your cheeks, lips wet with them, eyes all glassy and red. He draws you up onto your toes, pressing his mouth to yours through the mask, and you hold onto him tightly, digging your nails into his chest armor and threatening to not let go.

“I want to go.“

“No.”

“Simon, let me go,” You gasp, begging, gripping his hood in firm fists and not caring that his armor is cutting into your front. “Let me go with you, I can’t do this anymore, I want to go, I can do it.”

You aren’t sure if Simon underestimates you. You think it’s more that he does not want you to see him in a place where he is most true. Where he wears the least of a disguise. He does not know he wears it the least with you, and that you have already seen his blood and how it curdles under his skin. You like it that way. You like him angry…and mean…and terrible. You like him when his sword is dirty and his armor needs polishing and his mind thinks of nothing else besides war. He should know this by now. He should know that you see him and see what he is even more than his king, more than his men.

He couldn’t scare you, even if he tried.

“War is not where women go,” Simon snaps. His tone is harsh, even for you, and you stiffen when he grips you by the jaw and rattles your head a little. “Especially not one like you, my love. War would eat ya, eat ya fuckin’ whole. Look at ya…” He huffs, deep, sliding that gloved hand down your throat to slip it beneath the neckline of your dress and fondle your breast with a firm grip. “Beautiful. Meant for my lips…for these dresses…meant to be held in my hands, not bleed from stray arrows, because tha’ is surely the least of wot they would do t’ya if they knew ya were my wife. Now ya will wipe these tears, ‘n see me off, and then ya will come back inside like a good girl, ‘n you will wait for me here until I come back.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and you scowl up at him. Not indifference, but frustration, and Simon doesn’t think it suits you.

“I’m sick of waiting for you, Simon,” you spit. “It’s all I ever do, wait. Wait for you to come back, alive or dead, I never know. And don’t say you do this for country, that is a lie.” You shove him backwards, but he barely budges when your hands touch his chest, a rigid wall that does not give. “You do it because you like it. You’re a bloodthirsty dog, and all you do is bend to our king’s will.”

A lie, but you tell it anyways, because you want something, and he will not give it to you.

“That is my duty.”

“Your duty is to me,” you snap. “Kings come and go, but I will not.” Simon stills. He glares down at you from behind his mask, and perhaps this might terrify his men, but that you are not. You are his wife, and you are protected by that title alone. The only man to ever lay a hand on you would not live to see another second, himself included. “Now you will let me join you, or so help me God, Simon, I will not be here when you return.”

You do not expect the full-bellied laugh that leaves him. His armor shakes with him, and you grind your teeth, narrowing your eyes. He uses his thumb to force his mask up, and then he cups the back of your head and draws you in for a sloppy kiss. You resist at first, but when he feeds you his tongue, you melt. You kiss him back, letting him draw you closer, and you sigh as he tangles his fingers into your hair and cradles you with those big hands.

There is nothing more to say. Simon neither confirms nor denies, but you taste it in his mouth, his devotion. Not wrong, not right, but just so–he has many responsibilities, but you are the only one that will remain the same. One day, his king will die, and he will serve another, but the space you have made beside him will never change. Even when you die, because he knows you will go before him, there will never be someone else to fill it. You and you only, the woman he found and made his, the one he demanded lest he kill his own country for it, it will always be you. Soft and sweet, you are, but the Lord knew Simon could only have one woman, and he made it be you; the one spitfire enough to defy her own king because she trusted his love enough for it.

Would you commit treason to save his life? Would you watch a king die if it meant your beloved lived? 

Would he?

He thinks about what you have said when he takes his fleet across the water. He runs his tongue over his teeth behind his mask, breathing deep when he thinks about your proclamations of duty. Of change. Of what remains when other things move, of the kind of life that waits for him when he comes and goes with a king’s order. He thinks about how easily he is taken away from you, and he knows there is truth in what you feel. It is not really Simon that sacrifices, it is what he leaves behind, and that is you.

It’s never angered him before. He had accepted the fact, as early as your wedding day, that he would leave and come back, then leave again. It has always been the way of his life, come desire or not, so it bothers him that of all the things that surprised him in his life, it would be missing someone that shocked him the most.

Missing his wife. Missing the serene perfection of one woman, and the perfect place between her soft thighs. Every day that he finds himself between them is the best day of his life, he reckons, so now he feels bitter about staring at a freezing ocean amongst his men because he will go weeks without her.

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

It comes in a letter from a messenger on horseback. They have been stationed in a foreign land for weeks now, watching slowly as the stone walls of a castle at their front crumples day after day from the stones filled with powder that ignite what is wood and break what is rock. The letter is sealed with wax, with the motif of a snake. It is given directly to Simon, whose name is scribbled in the letter, and when he reads it, he tastes ichor and smoke.

So the great phantom has come to seal my fate. I am not in the business of letting what is mine be taken. Even if you have brought your all, it won’t be taken from me.

I heard you have a beautiful new wife. I heard you paid for her in blood.

I shall do the same. I will hang your sword above our marriage bed.

Ghost is not someone that bends to the threats from foe he cannot look in the eye. Words are so empty. It is nothing like when he stands just a few meters apart from them, eyes fixed against one another, as they decide whether today they want to live or they want to die. The letter means nothing, but he’s surprised by the heat that bubbles under his ribs at the mention of his bride. He meant it when he said you were not meant for war, and that meant in this regard, too–nobody was allowed to talk about you, not like this, not ever.

When his king orders him home, Ghost crumples the note and tosses it into embers. He watches it burn, and then he orders his men to set to flame the ground around the stone walls.

So men like him can be goaded, it seems. His resolve is not as strong as he thought.

The weeks make you anxious. All you do is sit and collect dues and tell the maids which dress you want to wear and which you do not. It is peaceful and boring, and you wish Simon was here to make your days more exciting, but he is not.

His letters are the only things that keep you occupied, truly. He writes to you about war and loneliness, and you write to him about the mundane of domesticity and the ache he leaves behind. Sometimes, his letters come folded with pressed flowers he finds along the way, and you start to collect them, putting them away in small boxes or using them as bookmarks as you go through Simon’s library.

He has many books. His most loved books are those of war, of history, and you smooth your fingers over the pages he has dogeared and find comfort in reading the same words that he once did. You learn, as well. While in your studies as a girl, they made you learn arithmetic and the flowery bits of history and art, here in Simon’s house, you learn of strategy and weaponry and military tactic. Sometimes you disagree, and you write about these disagreements to Simon, and he writes back, pleased with your observations. He told you once that if you were a man, he would want you in that tent with him, beside him, deciding on which formations to take and when to strike. You responded saying that you could be that for him anyway. What did your sex have anything to do with whether you were right or wrong?

Simon agreed.

But I would never invite you here, dear wife. You have to understand that.

When your queen asks for your audience for dinner, you oblige easily; finally, you have something to do rather than add up numbers or sign a document on Simon’s behalf or read another fucking book.

You don’t want to wear all the costume your maids insist on, but you appease them after they repeatedly explain to you what your title means. With a drawn face, you let them tie your corset and layer your skirts, and you watch in the mirror as they braid your hair and drape large, obnoxious jewels over you. You grimace at the tiara they fit into your hair, and your elderly handmaid pinches your cheeks and tells you to put on a fair countenance, Your Grace, lest you make the Duke look ungrateful.

You bite your tongue from snapping at her. She should know that Simon would say nothing about your countenance; all he would do is fix whatever was bothering you until you smiled again.

You arrive early enough to have tea. Your queen is so excited to see you; she gushes when you meet her in the throne room, pulling you up from your curtsy so she can hug you tight, squealing. When you try to address her with a curt “Your Majesty,” she shakes her head, pressing her hands to your cheeks and giggling, “No need for formalities now. Call me Victoria.”

You hide your displeasure with a small smile. Now that you are no longer her lady-in-waiting, she allows you her name. Is it because she sees you more as equals, or because now you’re allowed to be somewhat of friends?

You must be some kind of friend. She sizes you up like you are one. She wears England’s colors this afternoon. A fire red dress adorned with gold accents, a dragon pin holding her shawl. She wears magnificent red and gold jewelry, but she’s looking at your dress, and you can see the slight twitch of her eye. You are wearing French lace, and she doesn’t like it. Or maybe she doesn’t like the color, the accents of navy blue and silver that you wear.

The skull motif that is woven into your tiara and printed on your coat and sewn into your dress. Does it insult her? That all your life, you wore nothing but browns and beiges and grays, were invisible to her, and now you represent your house, visit her as your guest, and bear an honorable name?

You were no one when you served her. Just a girl, no close family, no friends, just a distant uncle who gave you to the crown that hoped you could be of service. That was to be your duty for all your life–to serve the king’s wife until she wanted you no more or until she was gone. To cater to her every need and every wish, no matter the time of day or night.

Now you sit across her, more noble. Refined. Wearing a dress she despises, perhaps because she likes it more than her own.

Over tea, she gossips about the other ladies she has visit. You’ve heard this before, but you’ve never been included in the conversation. She talks to you, and she wants to hear your opinion, and you find yourself uneasy as you try to think of what to say. She is your queen, and you want her to like you. When you worked for her, you earned her favor by always warming up her jewels before she put them on, by making sure she had her tea ready in the morning at her bedside, by always holding the fan she so loved for when she inevitably had a hot flash. Now, as her friend, you weren’t exactly sure what to do. You suck in a soft breath and look at her, and then you purse your lips.

You think it best to agree with her. To be on her side. You might not be her direct servant any longer, but you still must fall under her favor. A queen’s favor can be just as powerful, especially if she occasionally has the ear of her husband.

“Well, that’s not very kind of her,” you say finally, and she laughs.

“No! She’s such a prude. I think her husband doesn’t sleep in her bed enough, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you. You giggle at that. “Speaking of husbands–” She pops another cake in her mouth. “How is yours?”

You reach up and tug at your necklace a bit, smiling nervously.

“Oh, uh…” You clear your throat, “He’s doing very well. I hear his latest campaign is quite the success. His majesty is very smart, heading for the east that way, I’m sure they will be victorious soon enough.”

Victoria smiles at the thought of her husband. His intelligence. She always used to talk to you about how many hours he worked, how she hated when he was away, how she wished he was home more so he could give her a son because she was so, so lonely.

“Wise words from the duchess, aye, my love?”

You jump a bit at the low voice from behind, and when you turn, you gasp, immediately standing and falling into a delicate curtsy. John Price waves his hand, coming further into the room, shaking his head.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. “Please, sit. You’re here as my guest.”

You stand and lift your head, trying to relax. You take a seat, smiling nervously, and Victoria smiles giddily at her husband. When he bends to kiss her cheek, she fawns, reaching for his hand and squeezing it before taking another piece of tart and eating it. John hums before motioning for one of the staff to fill your cup again with tea. He eyes you curiously, taking in your appearance. You sit up at that, performatively brushing off over the skull pattern on your corset. John runs his tongue over his teeth, smoothing a big palm down his wife’s long coils of hair.

“Since you’re here, I’d like a word, if that’s alright,” John says to you. His tone carries a little more authority now, and Victoria sighs, whining a little.

“John, please, she’s my friend. Can’t it wait–”

“That wasn’t a question, Victoria,” John bites. Her face falls a little. She swallows and tucks her hands into her lap. You’re reminded as you look at the slight wobble of her lip that there is no one truly above John Price, not even her. You keep your face neutral, but if you were invisible, you’d pity her.

What a shame her husband sees her as less than. How embarrassing. Your Simon would never. Your Simon waits until you finish speaking before speaking himself. Your husband kneels to take off your shoes, your husband tears your skirts to get a taste of you, your husband used his teeth to sever a man’s throat just to have your hand.

What did John Price do to get his wife? Who did John Price kill to have her hand? How many bruises did he earn around his knees on their wedding night from eating her out? As many as Simon, whose knees were black and blue by morning?

No, you suppose not. How unfortunate. How pathetic.

Victoria picks up her skirt and stands, pasting a big smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and you can see the way her hands shake a little as she scurries off. She scowls as soon as she turns away from John, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll go check on dinner,” she says, but it is soft and unenthusiastic.

When she goes, the room falls quiet. At the nod of John’s head, the staff leave, and you keep still in your seat as John sits across from you, picking up one of the cakes in front of him and breaking off a piece to busy himself. He keeps his eyes on his task of cutting up the cake in small pieces, focused on his hands and how they work. You watch him carefully, steeling yourself.

You anticipate a conversation between man and woman, not a king and his lesser.

“Simon’s been away for some time. I bet that’s difficult for you.”

You straighten your posture, realizing what this conversation will be. By his tone, John seems to think you a bored, stupid housewife, perhaps. Uneducated. A woman, no thoughts in her head. You let your face relax, and you fold your hands in your lap. Maybe now is the time John should learn who you are and who you are not.

What you have become and what you no longer are.

“I do just fine, Your Majesty,” you say finally. You pick up a spoon and drop a cube of sugar into your tea, and you stir, picking it up to take a long sip. John is curious by your content. You have a quick tongue. “I could say the same to you, couldn’t I?”

John laughs. He narrows his eyes a bit at your clever response, taking a large bite of the cake and running a cloth over his beard. His eyes sparkle a little.

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

“You know I gave Simon orders. And you know he didn’t listen to me.”

You purse your lips, but he sees the shine in your eyes. The lack of surprise. His face twitches a bit, and you shake your head. You blink slow, and it irks him to see you so calm. He is your king, and Simon answers to him, and you are his wife, so you must answer, too.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I could have your husband’s head cut off for treason for that, you’re aware, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head to the side. What an odd thing for John to say. What an odd thing for John to contemplate, since it would never come to pass. “Don’t be daft, my king. You wouldn’t want to do that.”

John slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cups rattle with his frustration, but you do not even flinch. You blink, stone-faced, and it makes his nostrils flare. He recognizes that glare, he knows it well. He has seen it before, stared it down many times in rooms just like this. Only now, he is not fighting for land, he fights for control of the one man that he has always been able to rely on. Simon has followed him into battles outnumbered by a thousand men, and only now he ignores an order? Only now he chooses something different?

“Now, let’s be civil, Your Majesty,” you say softly. You smile at him, leaning your head in your hand. “Is there something that you need from me? I have a feeling you might have encouraged this dinner just so you could see me in passing, so why don’t you just ask me what you wanted to ask me?”

John lets out a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. He leans towards you, and you admire how blue his eyes are. John is quite a handsome king, but he does not captivate you. It has been a long time since John has tasted blood, and he lacks the edge that you crave dearly.

“I need him back here, is what I need,” John murmurs.

“My king, I couldn’t get him back here any more than you could, even if I wanted to.”

“Now who’s being daft?”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. John is not a stupid man. He created a beast of a man, and he is trying not to poke it too hard. You shift, brushing down your skirts, and you let out a low breath.

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

“Why does he ignore your order to come back?” You ask again. “I can’t think of a lot of reasons why he would stay. So why did he ignore you?”

John clicks his tongue, smoothing a few of his fingers over his beard. He averts his eyes, looking out the tall windows, frowning a little at the grim weather. The weather is always grim here, but it irks him at the moment, makes him scowl a little harder.

“I was…informed that there was some sort of letter,” John explains. “Some threat.”

“I don’t follow. He gets lots of threats. And terrible letters.”

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

You close your eyes at that, shaking your head. Simon would never be so foolish as to be baited by baseless threats. He barely bats an eye when someone even in front of him draws his sword. He is so comforted by his ability to win, by his dreams and his visions that have not yet happened.

“That’s absurd,” you breathe. “Simon wouldn’t…”

John chuckles, but there is no humor there. “Wouldn’t he?”

“I still don’t understand what you expect me to do,” you roll your eyes, looking away. “Simon is…he’s not…he doesn’t listen. It’s why he’s good at this, isn’t it? He doesn’t really take orders, he’s…I…”

John has never complained before about the way Simon chooses to lead. Oftentimes, it is an order ignored that has made it so that he delivered another crown at John’s feet. Simon asks for forgiveness, not permission, and John has barely batted at eye at it. He sees Simon as some kind of distant son, but this refusal bothers him so?

John leans forward. “You need to understand something here, Simon is a rabid dog,” he spits. “And sometimes I let him off his lead, but this isn’t like anything I’ve had to deal with. I need you to call him back here.” He scoots closer. “England needs you to call him back here. To me.”

You narrow your eyes a little. England needs you to call him back? What kind of sick sense of patriotism is he trying to instill in you? John is stupider than he looks, to think a woman like you would show loyalty to country. You are loyal to your husband, and nothing else, because what has king and country ever really done for a woman like you except for dispose of you?

You wear Simon’s colors, not John’s, and you will wear them to your deathbed.

“If I do this for you, my king, then you owe me,” you whisper. He laughs again, no humor, and he picks up a goblet and fills it to the brim with wine. He drinks half before slamming it down onto the table, spilling it over his hand.

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

“Quite right, Your Majesty,” you agree, picking up your napkin and dropping it onto the table. You stand, giving him a polite curtsy. “But I am not doing this as your subject.”

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

“You put your entire right to the throne on the back of one man,” you say softly. You are not accusing him, you’re reminding him of a truth. “Simon is why…he’s why your counsel still listens to you. He’s why your people are free from famine, why…why your taxes get paid on time, why your kingdom is still standing, no thanks to your father who wasted this place’s fortune on women and liquor.” You shake your head. “You have an eye for conquest, Your Majesty, but you lack the execution of any plan you conjure.”

You are not wrong, and John knows this, and it’s why he hasn’t spoken up yet or interrupted you. The man before, his own father, was a drunkard who spent all their money. He drank himself into the grave, and the only reason John stands before you now is because of Simon. A man who he fought beside, who he commanded, who once John’s duty became reality took up the mantle and finished what his father never could.

John would be in the next history book you read because of Simon, and it’s Simon’s name that will never be written. They do not bestow legacy to men who serve other men.

“Where…Where did you learn to speak to men this way?” John scoffs. “I am your king.”

You must have hit a soft spot. John is defensive now, and men only deflect and insult when they are cornered with the truth. They don’t like being held in front of a mirror.

“You are king because my husband made it so,” you correct him gently. “And Simon is a loyal dog, and that is good for your sake, because if he had any desire for your seat, it would be his.” You come closer, your heels sounding, and John glares down at you; but you glare right back because you are protected by your name and what you can do with it. John knows this, and it angers him, but he seems to have difficulty facing the truths of his own making. “But he is not your dog anymore. He’s mine.”

Your pen on paper is aggressive. You can tell because the splotches of ink are deep, bleeding black sinking into white as you put angry word to parchment. Not even a fortnight later, you are playing cards with Victoria, and you see Simon’s silhouette standing in the doorway, hood shadowing his masked face as he observes. When you look over your shoulder where John sits, and you meet his eyes, he looks away from you with a grim understanding.

Simon answers your call. Always.

At dinner, John is in better spirits. He drinks with a big smile, eats more than one plate, and he picks Victoria up by the waist to make her dance with him when he asks for the music to be played louder. Simon sits, fidgety, gloved hands moving in and out of fists as he watches you cut into your food and eat it with a blank face. He huffs beside you, his armor stiffening as he sits up straight, and you let your fork clatter onto your plate as you turn to glare at him.

“You were thinking with your cock, Simon,” you spit. “That is how men like you get killed.”

“You ‘ave no idea how men like me get killed because there are no men like me,” Simon growls. You roll your eyes, standing, and he grips your wrist angrily, tugging you close until you fall into his lap. You sigh, shaking your head, putting your hands on his broad shoulders and making him look at you.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But I’m not wrong. It is how you’ll lose. You know better than that, Simon. To fight someone because they taunted you in a letter, it’s playing the fool.” You cup his cheeks, keeping his eyes on yours. “You don’t need me to tell you that, and yet here we are.”

He breathes slow, closing his eyes for just a moment. He thinks he came for this, just a little. For clarity. Reason. It comes from you in waves, and it’s comforting to hear. It is something he knew, and yet it only makes sense now that you have said it.

“I know,” Simon mutters. “I know. Y’r right. I’m sorry, luv.”

You ask him to apologize when he undresses you. You ask him to apologize again when he sinks into a hot bath with you. You ask him a third time when he is in your bed, a heavy weight between your thighs as he licks and sucks at the soft skin of your tummy. He begs, lowly, let me ‘ave it, and you will, but he has to say he’s sorry again.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes, sucking on your inner thigh, and you close your thighs around his head, forcing his mouth against your cunt.

“Again, Simon,” you whisper. “I wanna hear it again.”

“‘m sorry,” he slides a rough tongue between your folds, breathing shakily when he tastes the oil that he smoothed over your skin only moments ago. You taste so good, you smell so lovely, coming off of you like fumes blinding his senses so that nothing else but you makes any sense at all. When you open your eyes, you think about where you are, and you nearly come thinking about what you have wrapped around your finger.

Not even your king tells your husband what to do. Not even your king commands his men, they won’t listen, he’s not who they turn to when things go belly-up, it’s your husband, and your husband answers to you.

You weren’t sure about it until today. Seeing him when you asked him to come, it flooded you with something that hurt. You could tell from even so far away that Simon was salivating under that mask. You knew the only thing separating his mouth from your cunt were the other people around him (and they were not privy to seeing you naked).

It is such a thing to observe. John needed a lead on Simon when he was his dog. You need no such mechanism. Simon never strays, not with you. He sits proper when you ask, and he speaks when spoken to. He tears at unwanted flesh, and he comes when you call.

John cannot give him all that he desires. Perhaps he thought what Simon truly wanted was fame and fortune. Legacy. But like most things men do, John does not observe. He takes in only what is right in front of him, and he makes assumptions. Simon is not like other men. Fame and fortune do not matter. He does not care about legacy. What matters to Simon is what he can hold in his hands. The ground under his feet. The steel in his hand. The woman underneath him, spreading her legs, inviting him in.

You love Simon. You love Simon more than anything in the entire world, but it would be a lie to say that you are not at some advantage here. Simon is all-consuming. He is the pinnacle of duty and honor and everything that a man is supposed to be, but Simon is also weak. There is something that he wanted more than anything in the world, and now that he has it, he will do anything to keep it, and that makes him vulnerable. Subject to all kinds of new things. Revenge. Retaliation. Pain.

Manipulation.

Maybe you should feel bad about it. Maybe you should feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel anything like it when there’s a big bear of a man between your thighs slobbering on your pussy like dessert. It’s hard to feel anything but bliss when he’s tracing the letters of his name into your cunt and making you see stars and fucking you into the silk sheets like it’s the last time he’ll ever have you.

It is men who govern your world, and if this is how you must move in it, then so be it. You will not feel bad. You will not be sorry for doing what anyone else would do. John thought he could keep his hand there, muzzle his mutt, but you like him this way, and you’re certain John doesn’t fuck the way you do.

He’s mine.

It isn’t John that commands an army, it’s you; or maybe your cunt, but that belongs to you, too, so it is you, isn’t it? You’re the one that lets him inside, that whispers in his ear, that tells him things you know he wants to hear to make things move in your favor, so it’s you, right?

Not John. Not Victoria. Not their counsel. You. They have stepped on you your entire life. They have made you small and inferior and sad for all of your existence, and they gave you something feral knowing it could eat you alive, and now you are the hand that feeds, and they are forgetting that if they bite too hard, you have something that will surely bite harder.

A collar would suit him, you think. He would look so pretty. He already is, the terrible beast, prettiest thing you’ve ever seen (the necklace your drape over him does just fine, a pendant with his motif that you hope reminds him of you). You don’t care if people would say his face is quite ugly. It is, very much so, but you never see him this way. Whenever that mask falls, your stomach flips. He takes your breath away. His intensity, his raw form of love, the look on his face–there is nothing else in the entire world that will love you the way he loves you.

“You came back for me?” You ask. You have a leg tangled between his, and his fingers are between your thighs, a shadow of a smirk on his face as he feels the mixture of your cum and his. He grunts a little, and you tilt your head to look up at him, your chin on his chest.

“‘f course,” Simon mutters, and you kiss his chest gently, keeping your eyes on his.

“But not for John.”

He turns his head, looking down at you more intently, and he scoffs. You know it’s true, but you want to hear it, anyways. You want to hear Simon admit, unknowingly, that you are the tether.

“John is afraid, and I don’t listen to ‘im when he’s afraid. Makes bad choices.”

It’s almost adorable that this is what Simon tells himself. That he comes back for his own sake, and not for yours, even though they are one and the same, intertwined and inseparable.

“Simon,” you say softly, and he sighs, his eyes closing briefly when you kiss him gently. “You have to listen to your king when he asks you to come back. Making a…rash decision about war strategy is one thing, but…” You cup his cheek gently. “Make things easier for me, husband. If he asks you to come back, you come back.”

This time, at least. Just this time.

Simon snarls a bit, but you swallow it when you kiss him. You maneuver yourself over him, straddling his hips, and he grunts as you sink down on him. He swells hard again very quickly, releasing a deep breath as you give a slow roll of your hips.

“Make things easy for me, my love,” you whisper, and he leans his head back, putting two big hands on your ass and moving you with ease. “Appease your king, yes? For me?”

“Can’t say no when y’r pussy squeezes me like tha’, sweet’eart,” Simon groans, and you giggle, planting your hands on his chest and starting to move a little faster. You lean your head back, your mouth falling open, and you gasp when you sink down completely, your ass touching his thick thighs as you tighten around him. “Fuckin’ Christ–”

“I hate when you go,” you whine, digging your nails into his chest. He hisses, planting his feet on the bed, and he fucks up into you with a renewed fervor. “Hate when you’re not here, Simon, I-I miss you, miss this–”

“Nghh…fuck, I know,” Simon pants. “Can feel it. Feel you.” You squeal when he grips you by the waist and turns you over. He makes it seem so easy, tossing your weight underneath him, and your arms circle around his neck as you draw him closer, hanging onto him. “Y’r so fuckin’ pretty…”

“Simon–”

He kisses to devour. His jaw hinges wide to kiss you sloppy, breathing in the moans that you can’t contain. Simon always fucks so well, stretching your thighs as wide as they will accommodate so he can make room for the goliath of himself that he is. He suffocates, in a good way, and his cock never fails to stretch you for all that you are worth. Simon holds your jaw in place as he grinds into you, relishing in the wet smack of his hips against yours. The fat of you satisfies him. It makes him growl with delight when he grabs onto wide hips, your fat arse, the body that you hold that tells him you are fed and warm and content. It draws his grin wider, and it makes him drool thinking about having you again and again and again, until you beg him for reprieve and his heir sits in your womb.

Simon fucks for sport. He wants to see how stupid he can make you. He wants to know how long you’ll cry for, how fat he can make your tears. He wants to know how loud you will cry, how many times he can make you cum before you’re incoherent, he wants to know the extent to which he can use you that you will still be awake enough to say his name just one more time. Simon is not satisfied until he pushes your limits.

It is what a Riley does. They endure, and they eat, and they consume, and they take pleasure in the all-encompassing indulgement of things they have never been allowed to have. You are a woman, so he knows this will come easy for you. So often, he knows, women are not allowed to indulge at all, so he wants you to. He wants you to cry and moan and eat, and he wants you to do it bearing his name so that no one will ever tell you no.

Simon says no to kings, and they placate, or they die. His wife will be offered the same respect, and he’ll stand behind her with a sword to make it law. When you bear his children, he will expect the same of them–to give their mother utter devotion, lest they answer to his hand. There is no one above you, not God, not country, and certainly not blood. They will know what their father did to have you, and they will spill the same amount of blood to keep it that way. They will do it for you, and then they will do it for their own lovers, and if they don’t have the same sentiments, that love is not true, and Simon will not give his blessing.

Everything else is trivial. He knows this, understands it, because history repeats itself. It is cyclical, and you are right. Kings come and go. Sons die to other sons, fathers make bad decisions, and crowns are passed to bastards and back again, until lineage is merely spectacle and power changes hands often enough to lose generational merit. There is one thing that remains, and it is what you do while you are on earth, while you are standing on the ground you were born on. Even faiths change; when men find it suitable, they change the rules, and then you worship a different God, so Simon sees no point in staying loyal to any of it.

Instead, he is true to what he knows. To what he can see and what he can feel. With John, he remembers being a young man, fighting alongside him. He follows John, to an extent, because he knows what it is like to share blood with him on a muddy hill and take an arrow for him.

With you, time stands still. He saw you in a room, and he had to have you, and he brought nations to ruin to make certain no one would bat an eye when he asked for your hand. He saw you in a dream, too–he saw you laying in his bed of furs, wearing nothing but a tiara of his making, wet between the thighs because that is how it’s meant to be. He recognized you when he saw you that first time, and he doesn’t know how, but saying no to you, really saying no, will change that vision, and he couldn’t bear that.

Your voice echoes. You’re moaning, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. The hair around his cock rubs your clit too many times, and when you come around him, you’re a shaking, withering thing, back bowed and nipples pebbled. Your toes curl as you cry from the starry-eyed, hot pleasure, but he keeps moving, chasing something in the distance that he can taste, so close.

Yes, Simon ignored his king. Yes, Simon did not ignore you. Yes, Simon admits, he came when you called, and he doesn’t feel bad about it, he doesn’t care how it seems. He would do it again if he had the chance. John could give him the same answer as you in every timeline, but he will only move if the command comes from you, and yes, Simon knows it makes him a liability, but crowns come with costs, and this is the one John must pay.

Simon will fight any of John’s enemies, but he won’t fight fate. He won’t fight what has already been seen, and he won’t fight what he already knows will happen.

With Simon’s cock in your mouth, you can make him deliver on promises. Sucking on the girth of him, you can make him an honest man. Taking inside of your mouth what you can swallow, you can make Simon do your bidding, and it is a hard lesson that John learns.

“Do this for me,” you slobber against the underside of his cock, and Simon relents.

“Make me happy,” you say, swirling your fingers against your puffy pussy, and Simon kneels with an open mouth.

“Just this once,” you whisper with his cum on your tongue, and Simon seals his choice with his hands on your tits and the taste of himself in his mouth.

When you make eyes with John across the low lights of the throne room, he can’t help the way he admires you. You stand beside Simon, looking the essence of nobility and reverence in another intricate silver and blue dress. The train of your skirt glitters with delicate jewels hand sewn into the fabric, and the headpiece you wear adorns a skull insignia. Your corset has been tied just right, thanks to Simon’s hand, and your own fingers are clasped between his. Your corset and jewels are of exquisite detail–one of the newest designs from Paris, structured and elegant and accentuating every curve of soft skin.

You glow in the room. His wife must be wearing a dress just as expensive, probably more, and yet his eyes (and everyone else’s) cannot help but follow you. Your own eyes won’t leave Simon; you flutter your lashes whenever he looks down at you, big smile on your face, and even when there are people curtsying and bowing to you and giving Simon their gratitude between bites of cake and glugs of wine, your attention never really strays. 

John feels inadequate in his own fortress; suddenly, red and gold sicken him, and England tastes sour in his mouth.

In a few generations, John’s house will likely fall. He will make heirs that will fail him, he knows this. In a few centuries, his family will not sit in the same place, but a Riley will remain right where they are supposed to be. Banners of blue and silver will always fly. If Simon does not make sure of that, then you will.

It’s what happens when you force women like you to their knees. When they grow up invisible, always in the shadows, forgotten and sold to the next man who will pay a higher price, it’s what you learned to do. It’s all you’ve ever known, to make the best out of something terrible.

Simon is the same, in that sense. You understand him in a way his king will never be able to. Simon has nothing, and neither do you, and Simon was stepped on and berated and tortured to the point of no return. It is why blood does not scare him and why death doesn’t come knocking. Time will be the only thing capable of killing him, and everyone that stands up to him learns that when they eat his blade.

In the quiet of the evening, Simon undresses you. He sits behind you on the bed, fingers pinching the bows at your back and unraveling them. He traces your corset, thumb circling over the skull pattern of the belt around the small of your waist, and he tastes something warm in his mouth at the sight of it. You look so beautiful–more beautiful than he’s ever seen you maybe, decorated in his colors and wearing his motif and sitting so pretty.

“You wanna know something…funny?” You ask quietly. Simon finds the ties of your skirts and starts to undo them. He grunts in reply; he might sound standoffish, but you know he’s listening. “John…John made it…he makes it seem like you don’t really listen to him. He implied that…in the face of adversity, you might only listen to me.” You put your hands on the front of your corset to keep it from falling. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wot’s so funny?”

You swallow, looking down. Your hands fidget, and you take a closer look at the ring you wear, the delicate gold band he gave you not so long ago.

“I…”

“Mmm…might be right, innit?” Simon snickers after a moment. You feel him stand, and you look over your shoulder as he peels his mask off and grins down at you. He tilts his head to the side, and you smile back at him a little. “Do anythin’ for ya. Disobeying a king…” Simon cackles, tearing your corset off, tossing it onto the floor as he walks you backwards. “Ignoring one…” He shrugs, “Oll in a day, love.”

“He can hang you for it,” you whisper. “Cut off your head. Cut off mine.”

Simon lays you back on the bed, spreading you out, climbing over you. You blink up at him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

He would have seen it in a dream. It would have come to him in a reflection in a pool of blood on the battlefield. It would have come to him, the voices in his head, he would have heard them amongst screaming, or perhaps in the void that he finds his mind in when he’s between your plush thighs.

You can’t help the smile that graces your face when Simon kisses the curve where your jaw meets your neck. It is fun, you suppose. Fun to control the tides that set the courses of history. It is fun and almost unbelievable that a king bends to the will of one man’s wife just because it solidifies his name.

You wrap your hand around the twine that dangles from Simon’s neck. It twirls around your fingers, easy, solid. Simon’s eyes are dark, and they are yours, and when you smile, so does he, because this is where you are meant to be, forever and always.

“What if I want more?” You ask. Simon hums, low from within his chest, and you run your tongue over your teeth. “Did you see that in your dreams, Simon? Hmm? Do you know what I’m asking for? What it is that I really want?”

Simon smiles. A dark one, with teeth, and you know he hears it. What more means for a duke and his duchess. What more means when you have all the money you could ever want, all the land you could ever need.

What more means when you have climbed your way to the top and still desire more. More, more, more. There are not many steps left to climb. There are not many places left to take, not much more of the world that can really be yours, but Simon looks ravenous, and Simon looks hungry, and if you fuck him now, you’ll have him right where you want him.

When you tug on what hangs around his neck, Simon bends. Simon follows.

[gaysindistress]

Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

[seungkw1]

love me right — ksy

♡ pairing: roommate!hoshi x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut [18+ mdni], humor ♡ wc: 4.1k ♡ warnings: oral (f. & m. receiving), unprotected piv sex (do not do this), multiple orgasms, a lil spit play, head pushing, thigh riding, somnophilia, cum eating/swallowing, cumming in pants, like 2 seconds of angst, praise kink, hs is down bad for reader, gendered pet names (baby, good girl, pretty girl, etc), bit of fluff at the end ♡ a/n: this is part 2 to make me !! finally got this written hope yall like <3

Ever since you sort-of-accidentally had sex with your roommate for the first time, he’s been nothing but a fucking menace. 

Not in a bad way - no, despite the fact that he's kind of an actual insane person he's always been and continues to be a very considerate and agreeable roommate. There's no problem with your living arrangements. 

The problem is how fucking insatiable he has become. 

You previously never thought there could be such a thing as too many orgasms, but Soonyoung really is testing your limits. You've never had so much sex in your life - and you're not mad about it by any means. But your roommate-turned-friend with benefits is absolutely, utterly, wholeheartedly obsessed with having his entire face buried in your pussy at all possible times. And you love every second of it. 

Sure, sometimes your clit kinda feels like it's gonna fall off. Most of the time you've barely recovered from the last set of two, three, four orgasms (the current record is six, a record he's determined to beat) before he’s back between your legs again. But the constant cunnilingus leaves you more sensitive than ever before - and the more you squirm beneath his tongue and scream and cry as he takes you to paradise, the more it gets him off. One time you were wailing his name so much that he actually came in his pants, fully hands-free. The man simply worships you. 

You've had various kink-related conversations over the past couple months of nonstop boinking, as these things come up. You wouldn't necessarily say Soonyoung is into anything too crazy (besides the occasional burst of tiger roleplay, anyway), but so far he's been enthusiastically down for everything you've expressed interest in. He’s the very definition of matching one’s freak. 

“You know what would be hot?” Soonyoung asks you one day, approximately two minutes after you woke up and emerged from your room.

“Good morning to you too,” you tell him through a sleepy yawn.

“What if,” he continues anyway, “hypothetically, I were to wake you up one day by eating you out?”

“Soonyoung is it nine in the morning,” you reply as you give him a dull glare. You go to make yourself a cup of coffee, but he extends a full mug to you. You take the cup - it’s fresh, piping hot. 

“Oh, thanks,” you say, surprised by the kind gesture.

“So?” he prods, eagerly awaiting your reply.

“I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t be mad about that,” you answer with a small shrug.

“NOICE,” he exclaims, pumping his fist in the air.

“BUT-” you quickly add. “That cannot be an everyday thing.”

“Right, of course not,” he agrees with a nod. “Soooo, when can I try it?”

“Well, I can’t tell you that,” you reply straightforwardly. “It’s supposed to be a surprise, that would like, defeat the whole point.”

A wide grin spreads across his face, but he shakes it off right away, playing it cool. 

“Okay cool, well I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, grabbing your hand and shaking it vigorously. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

You roll your eyes at him. 

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you gibe, but your face cracks into a smile. He pulls you in and kisses you. 

“Love you too.”

You freeze. 

You may have been intimate with him more times than you can count, but your relationship is strictly casual. You only kiss when you're fucking, and the words I love you have never once been uttered by either of you. You know he probably was saying it facetiously, but the way he said it was so nonchalant. So… realistic. You stare at him for a second, not knowing how to respond. His smile slowly drops. 

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes. His ears immediately turn red with embarrassment. 

“No no it’s fine,” you babble, trying to backtrack. “I just wasn't expecting…”

“I was just kidding,” he responds. Then his eyes widen. “I mean not like that, it's not that-”

“It’s fine!!” you quickly interject before he can say anything else. “I know what you mean.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs again. He suddenly realizes he's still holding onto your hand - he swiftly lets go. 

“Thanks for the coffee,” you tell him politely with a smile, trying to change the subject. 

“Of course,” he replies, trying to smile back at you, but you can tell he's still sulky. He departs from the kitchen without saying another word. He emerges from his room about a minute later in athletic gear, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Off to workout already? I thought you were going this afternoon” you inquire, but he's already breezing past you. 

“Yeah, Mingyu just texted me and wanted to meet earlier,” he answers as he grabs his keys. 

It’s a bad lie, and you both know it. But you don't press him further. 

“Okay, have fun!” you say cheerfully. But an air of tension remains. 

“Thanks,” he replies, turning back to glance at you for only a brief second. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “Soonyo-”

He's out the door before you have a chance to finish even saying his name. 

You stand there for a few moments, staring at the front door, wondering if you've just fucked everything up. You didn't mean to, of course. You were just so taken aback by the stupid L word. It's not something you ever expected to hear coming from Soonyoung’s lips, not about you anyways. But now it has you thinking. Was he simply joking around? Or does he actually have… feelings for you?

A small blip of a thought enters your mind: and do you have feelings for him?

You push it away before you can think about it any further. 

The next few days are undoubtedly a bit awkward. Soonyoung is clearly avoiding you - not in a malicious way, but he just so happens to have business elsewhere whenever you're at home. 

You're mildly annoyed, but more so you're feeling gloomy about the whole situation. You never meant to do anything to push him away - near-constant fucking aside, Soonyoung truly is a good friend. And now you find yourself missing him. 

After an entire week of this nonsense, you decide to confront him. You pretend to be going to sleep, anticipating that he’ll spend some time alone in the common area. A few minutes later your hunch is confirmed when you hear the tv come on, its volume low. You quietly open your door and sneak into the living room. You approach the couch slowly from behind - when you arrive at it, you jump around and plop down next to Soonyoung. 

“FUCK,” he yelps, nearly jumping out of his seat.  “You scared me!”

“I'm horny,” you tell him bluntly, scooting up next to him. “Let me suck your dick.”

Soonyoung stares at you, looking into your eyes that are now mere inches from his. You can tell he desperately wants to say yes, but he resists. You give him a flirty look, trying to entice him. 

“Pleaseeeee?”

“Well, I was gonna watch a movie…” his sentence trails off, unfinished. He tries to shift his focus away from you, but his eyes keep flickering back to yours. 

“Seriously?” you ask, crossing your arms. “Since when do you turn down head?” 

“Y/n…”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. 

“Yes?”

He looks you in the eyes again, then sighs. 

“I dunno, I’m just not in the mood right now,” he finally answers. He looks away sullenly. 

“Are you okay?”

He looks back at you. He clearly wants to tell you something, but he hesitates. 

“About the other day…” he finally speaks. He pauses, in case you have something to say. You don’t; he continues.

“I didn't mean to make things weird. When I said that I loved you.”

“You didn't,” you assure him. You note that he didn’t say anything about it not being true, but you try to ignore that right now. 

You take his hand in yours, patting it softly. He looks at you, surprised by the gesture. 

“I was being weird, that's on me.”

His mood cautiously lightens. “You sure?” he verifies. 

“100%,” you say with a nod. He smiles at you. 

“Now will you please put your dick in my mouth?” you request again, looking into his eyes seductively.  

A smile creeps onto his face. 

“I mean if you're gonna be this fucking hot…”

You give him a mischievous smirk. You tug at his tshirt; he immediately takes it off. He groans as you grab his dick through his sweatpants, his cock starting to harden instantly in response. One thing about Soonyoung - you can do the bare minimum and he’ll have a boner within five seconds. You lick your lips, stroking him slowly through the soft gray fabric. He lets out a deep exhale, relieved by your touch - it had only been a week, but he missed you badly. He craved your touch, craved how insane you make him feel. He drops his head back, his legs spreading as he settles into the couch, shifting his pelvis up so you have full access to his groin. You rub your hand over the thick bulge, squeezing and pulling lightly, causing him to let out a pathetic-sounding moan. He is putty in your hands. 

About a minute more of your over-the-pants handjob and Soonyoung is rock fucking hard. You slide off the couch, taking to your knees between his spread thighs. You pull at the elastic waistband, tugging it down over the pulsating bulge in his underwear. You place your mouth on him through the fabric, letting him feel your lips, your hot breath on him. 

“Stop teasing me,” he begs after you plant several more kisses on his clothed dick. “Please.”

You gaze up at him, your eyes filled with lust. You reach into his underwear, retrieving his cock, prompting further pathetic moaning. He is leaking with precum - you take him in your fist, stroking up and down at a pace that he finds painfully slow. You place your lips atop the head, lightly sucking up his juices. He cries out as you then swirl your tongue over his tip.

“Aaaah,” he groans, his voice turning gravelly.

You grab his balls and take the rest of the head into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks as you begin sucking on it slowly - each motion of your lips long and drawn out. Saliva accumulates in the back of your mouth - and an overwhelming wetness accumulates in your underwear.

You draw your head back, gazing up at Soonyoung submissively. You collect your saliva, spitting it onto his cock - it trickles downwards. Wrapping your hand around his girth you spread it over his full length, coating his cock with your spit. 

“Oh wow,” he mutters, nearly going cross eyed. You take his cock in your mouth once more, swallowing more and more of him until his entire length is down your throat. 

“Goddamn baby,” he growls as you bottom out. You begin to bob your head, sucking him off. The sounds being made right now are grotesque - slurping and gagging from you, moaning and grunting from him. But it's only turning you on even more. 

“Ohh that's a good girl,” he grumbles as he pets your hair. You increase your pace - saliva coats your lips, dripping down your chin, spreading across your face. The utterly sloppy head has Soonyoung writhing beneath you, babbling unintelligibly as his orgasm draws near. 

“Feels so good baby.” 

“Fuck you’re so hot.”

“Pretty girl sucking my cock so good right now.” 

His other hand ventures to your head, holding you down as his hips jerk and shake. Your throat aches from him fucking it, your eyes well with tears - but your clit throbbing against the stickiness that has flooded your panties proves how much you fucking love this. 

“Ohhhhhmygoddddd,” he groans through gritted teeth. “Fuuuuck, y/n… I’m gonna cum…”

He pushes your head down as he releases, giving you several hard thrusts as his cum spurts down your throat. You let him fill you up, eagerly swallowing each burst of his load. His hips slow as his climax wanes. His arms plop onto the couch cushions, his body sinking into the sofa as his body relaxes. He drags one hand to your face, grasping your jaw gently as he slowly pulls you off of his sensitive throbbing cock. He wants to look at you so bad, see that pretty little face with those pretty swollen lips covered in both your juices - but his energy is too drained to even lift his head. 

“C’mere,” he pleads softly. 

You pull yourself back up onto the couch, pressing your body closely against his. You lay your head on his shoulder as your fingertips delicately trace up and down his cock - it pulsates at your touch. 

He turns his head to face you, his nose brushing up against yours. He lifts one hand, tenderly cradling your cheek. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice low and husky. 

You feel a pang deep in your stomach. You've been scared to admit it this whole time, but at this point it's undeniable: you are falling in love with your roommate. And god do you want to kiss him. 

“Yes,” you whisper, the word hot and breathy against his lips lingering before yours. 

Soonyoung grabs your face with both hands, pulling you deep into his kiss. His lips hungrily lock onto yours, his body stilling except for his chest, rising and falling with slow, heaving breaths. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you, holding you tightly, refusing to allow any physical space between you two. You want to stay here for all of eternity.

Slowly, your mouths part - he gives your bottom lip a few more tugs before letting go. His forehead rests against yours, both of you exhaling deeply in tandem. His hands drop to your waist, touching you gently as the warmth of his breath greets your face. He looks into your eyes as he holds you. 

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

You nod. Quickly tucking his remaining erection back into his sweats, he takes your hands and pulls you up with him, kissing you with each step as you stumble together into your room. You plop onto your bed, pulling Soonyoung on top of you. He rolls over, holding you snugly against him, your legs tangling together as he starts making out with you again. Your aching cunt presses against his thigh as you wrap your legs around him; you begin to grind your hips slowly.

“Wait,” he pauses. He reaches for your shorts, sliding your pajamas and panties off of you. You kick them the rest of the way off, discarding them somewhere on the bed, your shirt quickly joining them. He yanks his own pants off; you straddle his thigh again, your soaked cunt greeting his skin. 

“Oh my god,” he groans. “It’s so fucking wet.”

Your hips begin again, dragging your pussy up and down his thigh, your juices spreading everywhere. You whimper at the stimulation, riding Soonyoung’s thick muscular quads as he wraps his arms around your torso. You cling to him as he draws you in close, his mouth wandering to your neck to plant a string of small kisses on the delicate skin. Ceaseless moans escape you as a fire builds in your gut, the burning pleasure of your climax rapidly approaching. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you cry out as you frantically get yourself off on Soonyoung’s thigh. You feel his cock growing hard again - it presses into your belly as it strains against the fabric of his underwear. 

“Cum for me babe,” his low voice speaks softly into your ear. 

Desperately grinding your pussy on his thigh, you finally release. You scream his name as you cum, legs trembling as your body shakes with vigor. Soonyoung holds you tight, kissing your cheek lovingly as you orgasm in his arms. 

“That's my girl,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips. You begin to come down, but your head is still spinning from the overwhelming stimulation. You try to catch your breath, slowing your breathing as Soonyoung rubs your back - but his touch and the warmth of his body sends you into a deep state of relaxation. He whispers something else to you, but before you can even process what he's saying, you are fast asleep. 

You’re awoken the next morning by loud, moaning cries.

Still half asleep, you begin to register a familiar bodily sensation. Only when you pry your eyes open and see Soonyoung situated between your legs, do you realize you’re the one moaning. His face is buried in your pussy, licking you slowly, tasting you, savoring every moment of having his tongue in your cunt. 

He lifts his eyes, noticing that you’re now conscious.

“Soonyoung what the fu- ohhh,” you question, but are cut off by his lips attaching themselves to your clit. 

“Good morning beautiful,” he mumbles into your cunt, refusing to take his mouth of you for a second. 

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I forgot I told you you could do this.”

He pauses, looking up at you. 

“Do you want me to stop-”

“NO,” you shout, louder than you meant. You lift your hips, putting your folds back in his mouth. He smiles into your cunt, eagerly resuming eating you out.

“Good,” he replies, barely audible as his tongue begins working into your hole again. 

Your back arches as his nose presses into your clit, making it throb desperately. He flattens his tongue, licking you all the way up, then swirling around the sensitive bud. 

“Ahhh,” you cry out involuntarily. “You’re gonna make me cum already.”

This only eggs him on further. He wraps his arms around your thighs, grasping you tightly as the tip of his tongue quickly flicks over your clit.

“How- fuck, how long have you been down there?”

He glances up at you again, sticking his tongue out exaggeratedly as he continues licking you. 

“I dunno, like five minutes maybe.”

“Five?!” you proclaim as your head falls back onto the pillow. You run your fingers through his hair. “That’s it?”

Soonyoung smirks, planting several kisses on your pussy. 

“You were already soaking wet when I got here,” he informs you. “Must’ve been dreaming about me.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” you pretend to be annoyed with him, but the moans escaping from your lips undermine your facade. 

“C’mon, you like it,” he teases.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I do.”

He grins widely. “Good girl.”

His praise and the way his tongue is now circling your clit send you over the edge. You whine as your orgasm approaches - loud, pathetic sounds filling the air as he sucks and slurps between your thighs. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg. 

The sensation builds and builds, making you squirm beneath him as every nerve in your body erupts with overwhelming delight.

“Oh fuck- I’m cumming,” you shriek as you reach your high. You cum on his tongue, long and hard - riding out your orgasm on his face accompanied by loud, unabashed cries of pleasure. As your body starts to relax, you release the tight grip you didn’t realize you had on his hair, stroking his head as he softly laps up your release. 

“Come here,” you tell him softly, but he doesn’t move. He seems to be even more relaxed than you are right now.

“Just a second,” he responds through deep breaths, his body sinking into the bed.

“Oh my god, did you…”

“Cum in my pants again?” he finishes your question for you. “Yeah. I did.”

He lifts his head, his eyes glazed over in post-orgasm bliss. 

“You’re so hot, I couldn’t help it,” he says with an amused grin.

Finally able to move, he rises - his underwear visibly filled with cum. He crawls back up to you, plopping onto his back right beside you. He peels the ruined underwear off, tossing them aside, then stares down at his own mess.

“Lemme just, um…” 

He goes to get up, intending to go clean himself off, but you pull him back onto the bed.

“I got it.”

You scoot yourself down, positioning your face near his groin. Slowly you begin to lick his own cum off of him.

“Jesus fuck, y/n,” he groans, his voice deep and low. “You’re filthy.”

“Don’t act like you don’t think this is hot.”

“Oh I do,” he says proudly. “Very fucking hot.”

He strokes your hair as you clean him up. As you finish he pulls you back up, laying you on top of him as he wraps his arms around you once more. Both of you are sweaty, and the embrace is nearly too warm - but neither of you want to move. 

You lay there in silence, your head tucked comfortably into his shoulder, peacefully listening to the songbirds chirping as warm morning sunlight filters into the room through the blinds. Soonyoung is breathing so steadily that you think he's fallen asleep underneath you, but eventually you hear your name softly muttered from his lips. 

“Hey, y/n?”

“Hmm?” you reply sleepily without moving. Soonyoung caresses your back, dragging his fingertips gently up and down over the soft skin. 

“What are we?”

You lift your head, propping yourself up by your elbow. You look down at Soonyoung - he gazes up at you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know,” you answer after thinking for a moment. “What do you want us to be?”

He reaches for your face, stroking your cheek gently. 

“I wasn’t lying the other day.” He stares into your eyes. Despite the fact that he literally just had his face buried in your pussy, it feels overwhelmingly intimate. Your stomach churns anxiously.

“I really do love you.”

You knew he was going to say it, but your heart skips a beat anyway. Hearing him say it out loud, hearing him confess his love to you - it’s a thought that previously scared you. But you no longer fear confronting this reality. Now that you’re here, it feels comfortable, it feels right. 

“I’m sorry if that makes things weird between us, but it’s the truth,” he says timidly. “I just can’t deny it any longe-”

You cut him off with a kiss. 

You kiss him for far too long - but it’s never long enough. When your lips part at last, you gaze at him lovingly, a big, cheesy grin growing upon your face.

“I love you too, dummy.”

He stares back at you, mouth agape. He finally processes your words, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Really??” he asks you in awe. 

“Really really,” you nod.

He embraces you with explosive enthusiasm, making you yelp as he rolls over on top of you. You giggle as he gives you a series of rapidly-placed kisses all over your face. 

“Stop itttt,” you cry through your laughter. “That tickles!”

“Sorry,” he says with a big goofy smile. “I’m just really excited.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you say as you grab his boner that has quickly returned.

He beams at you. “What can I say, you make my dick happy.”

“God, you’re such a dork,” you tell him as you roll your eyes. But you guide his tip to your entrance, shifting your hips to take him inside you.

“Ohh fuuuuck,” he mumbles, his eyes rolling back into his head. He starts slowly sliding his overstimulated cock into you, grunting when his whole length is inside. He rests, unmoving.

“You good?” you ask him.

“Yeah, just trying not to cum immediately,” he says, grinning.

“Soonyoung, you are crazy.”

“Crazy for you,” he says with a kiss. 

You spend the rest of the day in bed together, making out, fucking, napping - anything, so long as you don’t have to leave his side. Soonyoung, being Soonyoung, tells you he loves you no fewer than 12 more times.

“So,” he asks as you intertwine your fingers with his, holding hands after he goes down on you for probably the fourth time today. “Does this mean I can call you my girlfriend now?”

You try to answer, but you’re trying to catch your breath after your millionth orgasm. 

“Hmmmm?” he pesters.

“Gimme a… fucking second…” you mumble, pushing him away playfully. He gets right back in your face.

“I’m not hearing no…” he says, kissing your nose.

“Oh my god, yes, Soonyoung. The answer is yes.”

He grins from ear to ear, then wraps his entire body around yours, clinging to you like a koala.

“Yayyyy!" he replies as he nuzzles his face into you. 

“You know,” he says after a few moments of silence. “I’m pretty hungry…”

“You better mean real food this time,” you tell him sternly. “I don’t think I could handle any more orgasms today.”

“Yes, real food,” he chuckles. “Shall I order delivery from that Thai place you like?”

“Yes please, I’m fucking starving.”

“You got it, baby.”

[a-b-riddle]

Part Four

Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.

"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.

"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."

"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.

"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."

You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.

"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.

Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.

It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.

It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.

In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.

"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."

"You think it was a stunt?"

"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."

"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."

"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."

"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."

"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."

You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.

"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”

For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.

Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?

"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.

You were finally angry.

[griddleharker]

People trying really hard to deny Harrow's mental illnesses is weird to me. She is unwell, and it's okay. There is no need to disprove it.

In Gideon the ninth, we learn a layer of it by seeing she was a suicidal child. In Harrow the ninth, we learn she never let go of her suicidal ideations, even pre 'the work'. She is under constant pressure and has been performing her whole life, she CANNOT be mentally in good health with the life she leads. She is a result of a great sacrifice that she will never be able to pay the debt for. And she has been aware of it ever since she was a toddler. She lived through countless highly traumatic events. She is confirmed to have experienced psychosis several times before, even before 'the work', and it is confirmed by someone outside of herself.

["Lady," he said, in a much softer creak, "you've gone away again, my lady; where have you run? Remember your catechism and your lesson, and remember them well now: this is where you come back to--you have your little escape. You'll feel better for coming back you remember that, Harrowhark,

Nona whispered, "I'm sorry--I'm not Harrowhark." "Ay, and you've said that before, said the old man. "Who are you this time, if not my Lady Harrowhark?"]

Nona the ninth chapter 31

She is simply stable in Gideon the ninth, it does not mean she is well. We see her being unstable in Harrow the ninth. It's as simple as this. Many of the reasons why she was unstable are explained by 'the work' yet it does not deny what happens to her in any way, it is just another explanation for it. She is also known for starving herself for long periods of time at Canaan house too.

I'd also argue that Abigail telling Harrow she is not 'mad' and simply 'haunted' does not constitute any kind of proof to Harrowhark not being 'mad'. She does not know Harrow any further than at Canaan house, and she knew her very very little outside of the river bubble. It only applies to what's happening THEN. Not her whole life nor her whole existence.

edit: As a few people pointed out, i misremembered the moment between Abigail and Harrow, she did say 'Also haunted'

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 34: The Whole Truth

Summary: In life, we will be confronted with difficult choices. Sometimes you won't know you've made the wrong choice until it's too late

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 12,900 words

Warnings: Dead dove: do not eat, Angst, graphic violence and torture, mentions of predatory behavior towards a minor, Phillip Graves is a major creep, lots blood and injuries, kidnapping and its aftermath, hostage situations, anxiety and panic attacks, language, very explicitly described torture, ‘mega gets hit a lot, choking, biting, ‘mega gets stabbed with an ice pick, author can’t write COD missions, vomiting, lots of heavy emotions, detailed descriptions of pain, guns, background character dies on screen, descriptions of guilt and grief, lots of POV changes, some descriptive language of gore and blood at the end, rehashing of ‘mega’s injuries from the last chapter, a lot of angst and very heavy content, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe

A/N: This chapter deals with some pretty heavy content. Please, please, please read and heed the warnings. I have included content warnings for the more graphic parts before they happen, so if you don't want to read those, you can skip ahead to the next part. I suggest taking breaks if you need to, read it in installments if necessary. And I cannot stress it enough, please heed the warnings.

11/30/24 **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

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“Hi darlin’.” His grin widens like he’s happy to see you. “Been a long time.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, your brain still sluggish. You feel sick as you try to process, try to figure out why and how. You try to move your arms again, but your wrists are stuck, hands burning as you pull. You desperately want them free, desperately need them free. 

“Easy,” Phil says, putting his hands on yours, pushing them flat against the arms of the chair. They’re warm and calloused, the same hand that had been on your face a few moments ago. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. More than you already have been.” He lifts your left leg, making you groan quietly as a deep ache throbs down to your foot and up to your hip. 

Running. A gunshot. Pain.

“He had strict orders not to harm you.” Phil says, adjusting the bandage wrapped around your calf. “Don’t worry. We got you all fixed up.” He sets your leg back down gingerly, his touch lingering for a moment before he looks back up at you. 

“Why?” You croak out, trying to make sense of what happened. 

Corporal McKinney broke into the barracks and chased you into the woods. He shot you and drugged you and now you’re here, restrained in a chair staring at a man you haven’t seen for years. A man who was once your dad’s best friend. 

“A lot has happened since we saw each other last.” He says, pushing himself to stand. “I left the Marines after a few years, formed my own group of military contractors. Invited your dad to join, but you know how he is. All honor and duty and serving the country. Of course, you haven’t seen him in quite a while, have you?” 

You stare up at him, starting to get scared. You never liked Phil. There was always something about him that put you off. He always stared too long, always sat too close to you. He always greeted you with a hug that lasted too long, squeezing you too tightly against him. He was sweet on you in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. He could be intense, brash and almost downright rude sometimes. He was a firm believer in traditional packs too, even if he never spoke about his own pack, his own omega. He had to have one, if he was as dedicated as he said. 

He was far too much like your father. 

Phil was always kinder to you, though. Softer. Not quite as callous and bellicose as your father in public. He was polite, always happy to lend a hand, always glad to roughhouse with your brothers to get their energy out. You saw the way your mother looked at him though. Perhaps her apprehension bled into you, those dormant omega instincts picking up on something she was projecting. 

He made you uncomfortable, and she knew it. 

What could an omega do, though, in a world where they don’t have opinions, they can’t argue, they can’t disagree. Your mother never said anything because in the world your family existed in, the world Phil existed in, she couldn’t. 

“He was so angry when he called.” Phil continues, staring down at you. “Ranting and raving about how his oldest daughter betrayed him by presenting as an omega. He couldn’t stand having such a useless child in his perfect pack.” You flinch at his words, even though you heard your father spew those very words after your presentation firsthand. 

“He called you?” You ask, the pieces starting to come together as your brain finally snaps fully into awareness. You knew he called someone, but you hadn’t thought it would ever be Phil. 

“Of course.” Phil chuckles. “We were good friends, pals, buddies. He knew I could help him.” A shiver runs down your spine. You know what he’s going to say next. “So I did. I have some contacts in some high places, people who owe me favors. So I made some calls, pulled some strings, got you into FIOT immediately, with some strings attached of course.” He leans down so you’re almost face to face. “I wanted you. They put a note in your file. You wouldn’t be placed in the registry when you were old enough, you would go to me and my pack.” 

Bile churns in your stomach as you process his words. It all makes sense now. The stares, the hugs, the closeness with your father, your rapid enrollment in an institute that can take weeks to process applications. It was all so you could be his. Something he’s wanted from early on. 

“You would have been mine,” He pushes himself up straight again, starting to pace back and forth in front of you. “If the fucking CIA hadn’t gotten involved!” You flinch as his voice raises, the frustration starting to darken his scent. “They froze your file, made the claim null and void. All for what, their little initiative that never really existed in the first place?” He huffs out a laugh, a smirk tilting his lips. “Small world, though. Who knew we’d be seeing each other again after so long.” 

He steps closer, looking down at you. You hold his gaze, suddenly feeling afraid. Even though you know him, even though you spent a good part of your childhood around him, you’re afraid of him right now. Your mind starts to revert back, the urge to lower your eyes, break eye contact like you’re supposed to flashing through your mind. 

Don’t stare alphas in the eyes. They’ll take that as a challenge. It’s not your job to challenge them. Your job is to be subservient. 

You would have been subservient to him if the CIA hadn’t gotten involved. You would have been under his control, bowing to him and his will. You’d have pups by now, at least one. He’d always talked about having a big pack with lots of pups someday, always glancing at you when he said it. 

You’re going to vomit all over him. 

It’s not just the truth that scares you, though. You’re being held captive here. That thought has registered in your mind now, the reality settling in as you get over the shock of the last few minutes. Corporal McKinney kidnapped you from base, and now you’re restrained in a chair surrounded by unknown alphas. Phil isn’t going to help you, take pity on you. He’s not here to be nice, to have a little chat and catch up on life.

That possibly ended as soon as he was denied what he wanted. 

His hand cups your chin, holding your face up as he looks down at you. His thumb is rough as it strokes your jaw, a tickling feeling starting in the back of your mind again. There’s an almost bittersweet look in his eyes as he holds your gaze. You refuse to lower it, refuse to give him that satisfaction. “You’ve grown up a lot.” He says, his hand sliding down your neck to the collar of your shirt. “You always were cute, though. I knew early on you were going to be an omega. You were far too...calm and compliant compared to your brothers. Always so polite and eager to please. You can tell if you pay attention, you know. Those dormant instincts start to show themselves long before presentation.” 

His hand pulls your collar to the side, revealing your mark. His eyes harden as he stares at it, his lips turning down into a frown. A shiver runs down your spine as the darkness in his scent intensifies. He’s not holding you hostage just to tell you about what could have been, what direction your life might have taken. He’s here for a reason, and you know your pack is involved. Something has happened, something behind the scenes, something John was looking into. 

“What’s going on?” You ask as he releases your collar, taking a step back. 

“Well, you’re being held hostage.” He says, like it isn’t already obvious. “You’re...shall we say...leverage to ensure your pack follows orders.” 

You blink at him. You haven’t heard from or spoken to your pack in weeks. You should be relieved that they’re apparently still alive, but what if you had been right and they don’t want you anymore? Why would they take you if your pack has abandoned you? Or did they take you to ensure they wouldn’t...

“Laswell stuck her nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been.” Phil says, crossing his arms. “It’s only so long before your pack finds out. Let’s just say...they’re not going to be happy about it. So, to ensure they don’t do something impulsive and reckless as they are known to do, you’re going to play hostage.” 

You gulp as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling very afraid. Your scent spikes in the air, clouding it with the bitter scent of anxiety. It was the plan all along. You knew it even if you hadn’t been told outright. Deep down you’ve always known it wasn’t about strengthening packs. It wasn’t about studying how an omega would increase or decrease the efficiency of military packs. With the events of the last few months, the idea had started to form in your mind. You know you weren’t alone in those thoughts. John and Simon were digging into the cameras for a reason. They were put up for a reason. 

It was always about control.

That was the point of the initiative. That was why they put cameras up, that was why General Shepherd was so invested in the state of your pack and if you had been mated. He needed to ensure you were close enough to them so if something happened that wasn’t supposed to, you could be used against them. 

You’re nothing more than leverage. 

Your scent spikes in the air, clouding the room as reality sinks into you. Something happened that caused this. Something called your pack away to isolate you, to leave you vulnerable. They wanted you alone as a contingency. 

Something did happen. 

Now you’re here, being held captive by a man you used to know, a man who could have been your alpha had things not played out the way they did. The thought has your stomach churning. How far will they go? How far will Phil take things? Could he be merciful because of your history? Or will his ruined plan make him more ruthless? 

You’ll be punished for something you can’t control. 

Phil makes a soft sound as he looks at you, shaking with fear in the chair. “Don’t be scared. As long as your pack does as they’re told, I won’t have to hurt you.” He turns the light back to face you, nearly blinding you. “Now, smile for the camera.” 

They’re safe. 

It had been close. A rough position to be in, but they managed it. He never doubted them and their abilities, but four against nearly fifty with no backup were not good odds. He’s been in tighter places before, and while he had his doubts, he is grateful Johnny and Simon were sent in when they were. Even if it was a bit suspicious.

“All accounted for.” John says as he sinks down onto one of the jump seats next to Kyle. 

They’re all battered and bruised from their final fight. He’s ready to get home, ready to get back to you. From the sound of it, things were not going well, according to Johnny and Simon. He has a lot to make up for, a lot of apologies to make. 

“Fucking Russian PMCs.” He says, speaking to Kate over the comms. “It’s not a coincidence Kate.” 

Kate lets out a sigh that crackles through the comm. “No, it’s not. My team and I came across some information while we were digging into the cameras.” 

“What information?” He asks slowly and carefully. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark, especially when it comes to his pack. Especially when it comes to you. 

“Not just information on the initiative, but information on General Shepherd.” 

“What information?” He asks again, slower this time as Johnny and Simon move in closer. 

“Shepherd was the one that sold those weapons to AQ and the Russians.” 

John looks at the other three members of his team. He knew something was wrong, something was off about the way Shepherd had acted while informing them about this mission. “He wanted those missiles found and destroyed so he could cover his own ass.” He says, his stomach starting to twist. He doesn’t like the way this is going. 

“But we found out the truth before you could find all the missiles.” Kate continues. “He sent you on a wild goose chase to give himself a chance to escape.” 

John’s hand tightens into a fist. “Where is he now?” 

“He’s gone dark. Totally off radar.” 

John pushes himself up to stand, the adrenaline pumping again. “I’m going to find that bastard-” 

“John.” Kate says, cutting him off. “There’s something else.” 

The twisting in his stomach intensifies. There’s a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to entertain the dark thoughts that are brewing. “What?” 

“They took your omega.” 

His stomach clenches, his breath catching in his lungs. The other three shift on their feet, all of them stepping closer. The scent in the plane thickens, anger and confusion mixing into a toxic cocktail. He hopes he heard that wrong, that there was some kind of interference in the connection and his brain made up the words he missed. “Repeat that.” 

“They took your omega.” Kate says again.

He lets out a long breath, his muscles tensing. He’s had a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind for the last few days. Something was wrong, something was off. He should have known it was all a ruse. Why would AQ and the Russians store a missile in any of the places they had been sent to in the last week? It hadn’t made sense, and he had wanted to voice his doubts, but the consequences of a missile being launched because they decided not to look in one place was greater than his own perceived doubts. 

They had been right though. 

Of course it had all been a plan. Of course there had been something fishy about it. He’s hardly ever wrong. He’s been praised on his instincts on the field and off. He should have known. Pulling Simon and Johnny when they did should have been enough evidence, even if they had been needed in the end. 

“You’re positive?” He knows she is. There’s no mistaking something like that, there’s no doubting it. 

“There’s a video.” Kate says, John’s stomach dropping. “I’m sending it to you now.” 

John pulls out his phone, his fingers white as he holds it up. He’s angry, beyond angry. If they’ve laid a hand on you...if you’ve been hurt because of his own failings, his own inability to see the truth...

He clicks on the video when it comes in, a familiar face popping up on screen. “Hi boys. Been a while.” 

“Fucking Graves.” Johnny growls, his hands closing into fists in anger. 

“I have a little something of yours I think you might be interested in.” He turns the camera around, your face popping up on screen. You’re restrained in a chair, wrists red from the zip ties, but there’s a glare on your face, looking as mean and threatening as you can. There’s a bruise on your cheek and what looks like a healing cut on your lip. Someone hit you. 

“Smile for the camera.” Graves says, a bit too cheerfully. 

You don’t smile, your glare sharpening as the camera gets closer to your face. There’s still fight left in you. Whatever has happened hasn’t been too bad. Yet. 

“Let’s make this simple.” Graves says. “You stay away from Shepherd, and I won’t have to hurt this pretty little face. She is pretty, isn’t she?” 

You shift in the chair, your leg lifting before you kick outward. 

“Ow, you little bitch.” The camera jostles for a moment before it’s straightened back up, a hand shooting out to wrap around your throat. There’s no sign of any struggle, the glare still prominent on your face. “Feisty thing. Gotta keep up with those wild boys somehow.” 

The hand tilts your face just slightly, showing the mark on your neck. It is you, not that John doubted that from the beginning. It may have been almost two months, but he wouldn’t forget your face that easily. 

“Like I said,” Graves continues. “Follow your orders and she’ll be released unharmed.” 

The screen goes dark and John resists the urge to throw his phone. He shoves it back into his pocket, turning towards the wall of the plane. He throws his fist against the metal as hard as he can. It hurts, but he can barely feel it over the rage burning hot in him. 

“Fucking Shepherd!” He shouts, rearing back to throw his hand against the wall again.

Graves has his omega. Graves has his omega and now you’re being used as leverage. They’re all being played like puppets. 

A hand catches his fist before he can punch the wall again, easing him back. “Easy.” Kyle says, trying to soothe him as best he can. “We have proof of life, we know that she’s alright for now.” 

“For now.” He growls, looking around at the members of his team. “But for how long?” 

“They knew we’d go after Shepherd as soon as we learned the truth.” Simon says. “This has been in the plans for a long time.”

“They’re trying to get us to make a choice. Focus on getting our omega back while letting Shepherd escape, or go after Shepherd and let our omega be tortured.” Kyle says. 

“Those fuckin’ wankstains.” Johnny says, shifting on his feet. He’s angry, the bitter scent filling the enclosed area of the plane. They’re all angry, angry at those responsible, and angry at themselves for falling for it. “They were usin’ us the whole time.” 

John lets out a long breath. He needs a clear head going forward. He needs to be able to beat them at their own game and cause the least amount of damage to you as possible. As much as going after Shepherd first is tempting, cut the head off the snake and end things before they get too far, he knows that won’t stop Graves. He’ll continue even after Shepherd is dead. 

There might even be a second contingency. They kill Shepherd, you die too. 

“John, we can’t leave her.” Kyle says, still holding his hand. His fingers are wrapped tight around his wrist, trying to ground him as best as he can in this tumultuous moment. 

“The longer we wait, the worse things will get.” Simon says. “We go after Shepherd, we may never see her again.” 

There won’t be anything to come back to. 

He stares at his pack, all standing there, staring at him, waiting for him to make his decision. He’s their Captain, he’s their alpha. It is his decision in the end. He’s the one that they will follow, even if he makes the wrong decision. Even if he tears them apart in the end. 

“Where is she?” John growls, into his comms. 

“We’re working on decrypting the video now.” Kate replies.

“I need a location, Kate.” John says impatiently, heading towards the cockpit. For all he knows those flying the plane are in on it too. 

 “We’re doing the best we can with what we’ve got. You’ll be the first to know as soon as we find something.” Kate tried to placate him. 

“I better be.” He growls. 

Kate lets out a sigh as the comms close off. It’s not a captain she’s speaking to anymore, it’s an angry alpha. His pack, his omega is being threatened and now they all have to face the ramifications of it. She’s just as much a cog in this machine. She fell for this, she brought you into this, and now you might get hurt because of it. How she didn’t see the reality has shame burning through her. They were all blind, all led astray, all fooled by the red herring. 

There was never an initiative. It was never about strengthening packs. It was always about control. They wanted a way to control packs. Shepherd knew if the secret ever came out, there would be no stopping the consequences. Legal or illegal, retribution would come for him if the truth was revealed. 

This was his way of stopping it. 

That's why the 141 were the guinea pigs. 

They are the most dangerous threat to Shepherd, and he handed them a way to control them under the guise of strengthening packs, experimenting on how their dynamics and efficiency would shift with an omega added in. Even worse, they all fell for it. 

Time is of the essence now. Graves won’t stop, even as word reaches Shepherd that they’re easing off of him. Her only hope is that Graves won’t kill you. That will give them nothing to live for, and it will make them more ruthless than they already are. They’ll go after Graves, and then they’ll turn their eyes to Shepherd. 

No matter what you’ll always be a way to control them. 

If she can find Graves, she can send out a team to get eyes on his location. That way, they’ll have a direction she can point them in, and they won’t be going in blindly. This is a delicate situation, and she can’t trust Graves to uphold his end of the deal in this. They’re not going after Shepherd, but will that stop Graves from hurting you just because he can? 

There’s more to this than they’re letting on. She knows it, deep down. There’s something else, something even deeper below the surface. 

She’s got a lot of work to do. 

They’re going to need help. 

Christine can’t sit still anymore. She can't take it. It’s been almost eighteen hours since your disappearance and there’s been nothing. No word, no news. She knows you’re alive. Kate had confirmed that, but that hasn’t eased the burning questions eating away at her mind. What is your current state? Who took you and why? Where is your pack and are they even aware of what’s happening? 

She’s been sitting and twirling her thumbs. She can’t bring herself to do any paperwork, any research. What is there to do besides sit and worry? She doesn’t have a patient to take care of because she lost the one she was supposed to watch. 

She huffs out a breath, pulling her phone out of her pocket and dialing Kate. If Kate won’t call, she’ll call herself. Kate’s probably busy though, so Christine can’t blame her too much for not calling. She’s probably so far from the front of Kate’s mind right now. 

The phone rings twice before Kate answers, sounding tired and disheveled, just as much as Christine feels. 

“Laswell.”

“Kate, I need to be there.” She doesn't hold back, doesn’t try to make small talk. There’s no time for it. She knows how Kate is doing, and it’s not great. 

“Christine, I don’t know if I can take that risk.” She says. 

“I need to be there. I can't take sitting around here anymore. When...” When not if. They will find you. She knows it. “When you find her, she’s going to need someone she knows there, someone that knows how to take care of her.” Christine lets out a breath, the relief of getting her thoughts out taking some of the weight off her shoulders. 

Kate sighs, but she has to know Christine is right. She’s not sure what state you’re in, and depending on how bad it is, and where your pack is, you’re going to need her. Even if you think she was behind this. “I’ll have a plane ready to go in thirty minutes.” 

“Thank you, Kate.” She says, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Don’t miss the flight.” 

Christine hangs up, gathering a couple things from her office before closing and locking her door. She nearly runs to her barracks, packing a bag quickly. She’s not sure what to bring, or how long this will take. She’s not even sure exactly where she’s going. 

She hurries to the airfield, phone in hand. She’s not sure where the plane is or which one she’s taking. She’s just relieved Kate is doing this for her. 

Her phone buzzes as she reaches the tarmac, making her pause. She lets out an annoyed sigh before answering the call. 

“Of course you have to call at the worst possible moment.” She says. 

“I’ve always had the worst timing.” Alex’s voice comes through the speaker, and she can almost hear the smile on his face. 

“I can’t talk long. I’m about to board a plane.” She says. 

“I know. We’ll pick you up on the tarmac.” 

She blinks in surprise. It’s been years since she’s seen her brother, months since she’s spoken with him. Ever since he retired from Delta Force, his regular calls have been happening less and less, and they’ve reached near radio silence over the last couple years. Now he’s involved in this too? 

“Kate called in a favor.” He continues, and that’s all she needs to know. “We’ll see you in a few hours.” 

“Yeah.” She says, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiles. Despite everything, she’s glad she gets to see her brother again. Glad she has some support in this. Your pack will be mad. They’ll blame her. She’s not afraid of them, but she knows Alex will stand behind her no matter what. “See you then.” 

**Content Warning: light torture, ‘mega gets punched, further injury to previous injuries, panic attack**

Your hands are starting to go numb. The constant attempts to free yourself from the zip ties isn’t helping, but you’re beginning to get twitchy. Your omega is scratching at the back of your mind, begging to be free, but you know you won’t survive it. The room is full of armed mercenaries, and you’re sure if you tried to take out Phil first, you’d be pumped full of bullets before you could even do any damage. 

He’s leaning against the wall far too casually, staring at the phone he’d used to record the first video of you. His explanation had been simple. Your pack stops going after General Shepherd, you don’t get hurt. The longer they chase Shepherd, the more Phil gets to torture you until they decide your life is worth more than Shepherd’s. 

Will they choose you over Shepherd? What if they’ve already decided to abandon you? What if your fears were right and they’ve given up, and that’s why they were gone so long? They won’t care what happens to you if they have written you off as a burden, as a loss. They’ll let Phil torture you to death and they won’t even blink an eye. You’ll just be another casualty. 

It makes your stomach hurt, the idea of your pack letting you die. Even the idea of someone who had once been a friend of your family being so cold towards you has nausea bubbling in your belly. He doesn’t care. His only worry is money, not the past. He doesn’t care. He’ll do the bidding of whoever offers the highest price. 

He lets out a sigh, pocketing his phone as he pushes himself off of the wall. “Looks like your boys don’t follow orders well.” He bends down, putting his hands on his knees so he’s face to face with you. “They’ve decided to leave you here with me. Looks like Shepherd was wrong. They don’t really care about you as much as everyone thought they did. Makes me sad, them abandoning you so easily.” 

You try to ignore his words, try to convince yourself he’s doing it on purpose, trying to mentally break you. Yet you can’t deny those words play exactly into your doubts, your fears. Have they really left you here, choosing Shepherd over you? Would they decide to do that? How easy had that decision been made?  

Tears blur your vision as you stare up at Phil, your eyes burning as you try to put on the bravest face you can. You won’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to you, playing into your fears. 

“Unfortunately, that means I have to hurt you.” He stands up straight, staring down at you for a moment before pulling his fist back, hitting you across the face. 

You see stars for a moment, your head snapping to the side. The left side of your face is numb, the taste of metal flooding over your tongue. You’re bleeding, blood pooling in your mouth. A hand grips your chin, pulling you back so you’re sitting up straight in the chair. You stare up at Phil, the fear fading away to anger as you glare up at him. Your face is throbbing, and you know it’s going to swell and bruise later, more than it already has thanks to Corporal McKinney. 

Traitorous bastard. 

They all are. 

“I do feel bad for hurting that pretty face.” He says, stroking your jaw with his thumb. 

The movement is impulsive, the anger becoming too much. You spit the blood in your mouth in his face, the droplets splattering across his skin. He turns his head away for a moment, bringing his other hand up to wipe at the blood. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” He says, looking down at you. 

“Fuck you, you fucking creep!” You yell, kicking at him with your bad leg. 

He releases your face, catching your leg easily. He pushes his thumb against the bullet wound, all the fight leaving you as pain tears through your body. You let out a scream, trying to pull your leg away but he won’t let you. He holds his thumb there as you scream, the tears streaming down your face. 

“Okay, okay please! Please stop!” You beg, the pain radiating up into your hip and side. You can’t take it anymore, your brain starting to go fuzzy as you hyperventilate. 

He releases your leg, his hand wrapping around your throat to lift your face. The tears are streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the blood from the cut on your cheek. There’s no sympathy, not even regret in his eyes as he stares down at you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you can’t behave, I’ll have to do just that.” He releases you as you continue to hyperventilate, your eyes starting to glaze. You’re distressing. Will Phil help you? Will he do what he has to do to keep you alive? If you die, there won’t be anything stopping your pack. The entire plan will be over. They’ll go after Shepherd, then they’ll hunt down Phil. 

Cold ice water hits you in the face, shocking you back into clarity. Phil is holding the cup of water he’d been letting you drink from periodically. You blink at him as water drips into your eyes, your breaths hitching but far slower than they had been. You’re awake and aware now. 

You didn’t even know it was possible to do that. 

“Don’t distress on me now.” He says, putting the cup down. “We have so much ahead of us.” He moves around to the back of your chair, bending down until his breath hits your ear. “Besides, you make me help you out of distress, I might not be able to stop myself.” 

Your eyes pinch closed as his lips brush the shell of your ear before he stands back up, tears mixing with the icy water still sliding down your face. 

“Please tell me you have good news.” Kyle says as they stand around the table. John is still fuming, anger rolling off of him like it has been since they found out the news. He’s hanging onto the quickly fraying strings of control he still has on his alpha. 

“We’ve narrowed down locations to the US.” Kate says, standing bravely before them. It’s not the first time she’s been before an angry alpha. It’s not the first time she’s been before an angry John. 

“Damn it, Kate, we need a location.” John says, slamming his hands down on the table. 

“We’re working on it as fast as we can.” Kate says, unflinching. “We’ve got limited people and resources now. We can’t trust just anyone anymore.” 

John lets out a long breath as Kyle puts a hand on his chest. He’s tired. They can all see it in his face. He’s tired and angry and rapidly losing control. 

Simon pushes Kyle to the side, blocking John’s view of anything but him. The big alpha puts his hands on John’s shoulders, looking him right in the eye. “You won’t do her any good by raging like this.” He says, his voice flat and calm. “You know these things don’t happen immediately. They’re underground for a reason and we just have to be patient.” 

“She doesn’t have that kind of time.” John says loudly, but there’s a strain to his voice. 

“It’s better to wait and have a direct location than to run around on a wild goose chase. That’s what they want. They want us angry and thinking on instinct.” He squeezes John’s rapidly drooping shoulders. “We all want her back, but we just have to trust Graves will keep his end of the deal.” 

“She’s stronger than she looks.” Johnny says. “She’ll give ‘em hell.” 

John runs a hand over his face as he begins to deflate. They’re right. It’s better to wait and know for sure than to waste time running around and exhausting themselves. 

“Please tell me you have any news.” John says, moving back towards the table. 

“I do.” Kate says. “I’ve called in some backup. They’ll be here shortly.” 

Christine nearly runs down the ramp once the plane has stopped on the runway. She’s jet lagged and worn out after eight hours of worrying, but she’s eager not only to finally get some news on you and your status, but to see her brother for the first time in a long time. 

It’s not hard to find him. 

“Chrissy!” He grins, hugging her tightly. 

She has half a mind to complain about the nickname she’d endured her entire childhood, but she can’t find it in her as she hugs her brother tightly. She’s missed him, more than she realized. Their jobs have kept them busy, her with her medical studies and practice, and Alex with...whatever it is he does. 

“It’s been far too long.” She says, pulling away from him. She’d love to stand there and hug him for an hour, but she can’t. They have more important things to do. Time is of the essence, if her worst fears are true. 

“A lot has happened, a lot has changed.” He says. 

She looks him over, spotting the more noticeable changes in comparison to the last time they were face to face. “You could say that.” 

“We can talk about it later.” He turns to the other person with him, a woman. “Christine, this is Farah.” He introduces her. “Farah, this is my baby sister Christine.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Farah says, shaking her hand. 

“You as well.” Christine looks between them for a moment. She knows that look in Alex’s eyes as he looks at Farah. 

“We should get moving.” Farah says, ignoring him. 

“Laswell has moved off the grid.” Alex says, opening the driver’s side of the SUV. 

Smart, if things are as bad as she thinks they are. 

Christine gets into the back, letting out a long breath. She’s closer now to finding out what’s happened to you. The guilt is still eating her alive. If she just hadn’t left, if she hadn’t believed the phone call, put it above your safety. 

Things might have been worse if she had stayed. 

“Kate filled us in about everything.” Alex says as he drives away from the airfield. “At least in regards to the pack and your involvement.” 

“There’s some things she’s not telling us.” Farah says. “Though if things are as bad as they sound, I don’t blame her.” 

“I don’t know much of anything.” Christine says, staring out the window as they drive out of the city. “I feel like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her alone...” 

“It’s hardly your fault.” Alex says, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “If this was all planned, there wouldn’t have been anything that would stop it from happening.” 

“They might have done worse if you had stayed there.” Farah says, speaking Christine’s own fears aloud. 

“I wish I could see her. Make sure she’s alright.” Christine says. “If something happens to her...” 

“From what I hear she’s a hardy omega.” Alex says, trying to comfort her. “She’s withstood a lot. She can survive the 141, she’s probably giving them hell as we speak.” 

**Content Warnings: light torture, choking to the point of almost passing out, blood, very detailed descriptions of pain, non-fatal stabbing**

It’s getting hard to breathe. Phil’s grip around your throat is getting tighter and tighter, less and less oxygen getting to your bloodstream and your brain. Your mouth has an almost permanent metallic taste as blood drips down your chin. Blood stains Phil’s arm from where you bit him, teeth marks red and angry looking from where they broke the skin. 

“You fucking bitch.” He growls, jaw clenched. “Your alpha should have taught you some manners.” 

His hand squeezes tighter, cutting the air off entirely. You begin to panic, tugging against the restrains with your raw, cut up wrists. Black dots begin to dance in your vision, your legs straining against the zip ties keeping them attached to the chair. Your hands and feet are going numb, your entire body tingling. This is it. You’re going to be choked to death. 

He holds his hand there for a moment, letting you struggle before he lets go and you suck in a gasp of air. You slump over in the chair, blood splattering on the floor as you cough, your throat raw and sore. Tears burn in your eyes as you heave, trying to get the oxygen flowing through your body again. 

Phil bends down to your level as you sit there, head hanging as blood drips from your mouth. Your tongue is raw from how many times you’ve bitten it. It’s impossible to tell how much time has really passed. There’s no windows in the room. The only light source is the cracks around the door behind you. Even then with the bright light in your face constantly, it’s hard to tell anything anymore. 

“Feisty still, but everyone has their limits.” His hand cups your chin as he stands, lifting your face to follow him. His hand holds the back of your head up as he wipes at the blood under your nose and on your chin almost gently. 

Tears stream down your cheeks as you stare up at him, unable to even care anymore that his hand is so close to your neck. All he has to do is move it down just slightly and squeeze and you’ll be unaware of anything around you, at the mercy of his bidding. 

That would almost be a relief. 

He dumps another icy cup of water over your head, keeping you from slipping too much into a panic. The cold water stings the cut on your chest and the one on your arm as it slides down your shoulders. You’ve lost the ability to feel the throbbing in your calf, numb to most of the pain in your body. 

Why haven’t they come for you? Where is your pack? 

Have they written you off for good? Was finding Shepherd more important than you? 

Phil’s phone goes off, your stomach dropping. He stares at the screen for a second before turning back to you. 

You shake your head, the tears cascading down your cheeks. “No,” You start to shake. “No, please-” 

“You know I have to, darlin’.” He moves behind you, tugging on your hair to keep your head up as one of his men stands in front of you with a phone in hand. 

He counts down on his fingers before pressing record. 

“Having fun yet?” Phil says as he reaches around your head, holding your chin in his hand. He tilts your head back making you look up at him. “We sure are. Aren’t we, darlin’? Tell them. Tell them how much fun we’re having.” 

You’re still crying, unable to stop as you stare at the camera. They really have given up on you. They’ve deemed you unworthy of saving. They’ve let you sit here and be beat up and tortured all because they put the job first. 

They really have given up on you. 

Are they even watching? 

“Please,” You croak out, half begging your pack to care, half begging Phil to have mercy. 

“Since you can’t seem to bring yourselves to care about your own omega,” He shifts slightly, someone handing him something behind you. You catch a glint of metal, your heart rate picking up. You’re panicking, breaths coming in shaky gasps. You know he can do worse. He’s threatened worse, but what is he going to do? “It seems you need a little more...motivation.” 

You try to wiggle out of his grasp in panic, wrists bleeding again from tugging at the zip ties. They’re coated in your blood, your leg throbbing but you don’t care. You need to get away, get free. “No, no-”

You let out a scream. 

It’s sharp and piercing, but nowhere near the sharp pain in your neck. It fires through your very nerve endings, making you aware of the very cells in your body. It shoots up into your brain, igniting every neuron in your brain. Your very blood feels like it’s boiling, your skin on fire from the pain. Every inhale feels like you’re breathing in sand, and every exhale is like glass shards dragging through your lungs and up your throat. The tears streaming down your face may as well be slicing through layers of skin, every wound pulsing and throbbing with a new kind of angry vengeance. 

You’re sobbing, nearly choking on air as the pain continues to pulse in your body. It’s too much, every sensation inside and outside of your body meshing together in an agonizing harmony. 

“Shhh.” Phil tries to shush you as he bends down, his cheek resting against the side of your head. “I know, I know. You’ll be alright.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head before letting you go limp in the chair. 

Your scream still hangs in the air even after the video ends. 

It’s otherwise silent in the room, all eight of them feeling the weight of their decisions on their shoulders. The scents in the air are full of pain and regret and guilt and anger. 

“Was that fatal?” Kate asks, breaking the tense silence. 

“No.” Christine chokes out, her voice shaky. Her hands are trembling where they’re tucked against her sides. Her arms are crossed over her chest, trying to bring herself some kind of comfort after what she had just watched. “He went for the scent gland. It’s not a fatal injury, unless you go too deep, but he knew what he was doing.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “It’s just incredibly painful.” 

Her words hang in the air for a moment, all of them still trying to process what they had just seen. 

John slams his hands on the table, all of them jumping. “I fucking told you.” He says, his voice laced with the deep growl of his alpha. “I fucking told you Kate, she should have been flown out here as soon as you made the call.” 

“I know.” Kate says, undeterred by his anger. She’s seen it many times, though she’s rarely been on the receiving end of it. “I know, I made a bad call. None of us knew they would take it this far.” 

“But we knew something was going on behind the scenes.” John says, still radiating anger. “All precautions should have been taken.” 

“There was no guarantee her being here would have stopped them. She might not have been any safer here.” Kate says, trying to ease his anger, even though she knows it’s completely warranted. “This goes far deeper than we thought it did. Even before this plan was set into motion.” She waits a moment, letting the air settle. “A year ago, a convoy was smuggling missiles and other weapons into the Middle East in an off-the-books operation. The convoy was attacked and the missiles and arms were stolen by a Russian PMC group. The operation was conducted under the command of Shepherd, and the soldiers in the convoy were all Shadow Company.” 

“That’s how Graves is tied into this.” Kyle says. 

“It goes deeper than that.” Kate says, pulling up a file and displaying it on screen. “The missiles and weapons being smuggled weren’t being sent to aid allies in the Middle East. Shepherd sold them to AQ and the Russians. The PMC group that attacked Shadow Company was hired by Shepherd to make it look like an ambush.” 

“Fucking weasel.” Simon growls. 

“I don’t know how much Graves knows, or how much he helped hide the entire operation, but his ties to this go even deeper than that.” Kate says, and they all shift closer. “Graves has history with your omega.” She says, pulling up an old photo. “We combed through one of her brothers’ Facebook pages. Found an old photo of her dad with Graves. They served on the same base when her family lived in Texas before Graves left to join MARSOC. She would have still been a child at the time.” 

They stare at the photo, Graves clearly identifiable as he stands next to another man, beers in their hands. There’s two other boys in the photo, young and grinning at the camera. Standing in front of Graves is a little girl, a happy grin on her face. They’re all in various combinations of red, white, and blue. 

4th of July, they assume. 

“That’s how she got into the institute so fast.” John says, staring at the photo. He’s never seen a photo of your father before. You must take after your mother. “Graves pulled the strings.” 

Kate nods. “He did, but under the condition he would be the one to claim her when she grew old enough. The CIA wiped out that claim when they froze her file.” 

The 141 all shift on their feet, sharing looks. John feels a sick twisting in his stomach at the implications. Your position in the photo suddenly makes sense. Anger burns in him, deep and bubbling like magma. He’ll kill the bastard. 

“This is revenge then.” Johnny says. 

“In a way, I think.” Kate says. “We took away what he wanted. Graves wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.” 

“This all is what the initiative was created for.” Christine says, leaning against the table. “A contingency in case this all was uncovered.” 

“A way to control us.” Kyle says. 

Kate nods. “Yes. It was all a plan to give the 141 a weakness, a way to be controlled should the situation arise. In this case it just so happened to be the uncovering of his traitorous arms deals.” 

“We were all pawns in this.” Christine says. 

“We let them walk right in and take control like that.” John says, turning to Christine. “You let them walk in and take our omega.” 

She turns to face him, undeterred by his agitation and anger. “I did what I thought was right at the time. I got a call from one of the front desk workers in the med center saying that someone was waiting in my office for me.” She explains. “They wouldn’t say who it was, and the whole thing felt off. I knew whoever would be visiting me was not going to be friendly, so I felt it was safer to leave her in the barracks than take her with me and risk something happening in a place she doesn’t know well. In the barracks at least she’d know places to hide and barricade herself.” 

She takes a deep breath, still facing down John fearlessly. He’s coiled tight like a spring, ready to jump at any moment should he deem it necessary. It’s those protective instincts, the knowledge that his omega is somewhere else, taken unwillingly and being tortured feeding into that need to fight. 

“My office door was open when I got there.” She continues. “I always leave it locked. I went in prepared to fight, but I was attacked from behind. Hit over the head and drugged with something fast acting, something that would keep me incapacitated long enough for him to strike.” She stares up into his eyes, projecting her scent just a bit to try and get him to calm down. “We all made mistakes here, things we thought were the right choice at the time.” 

She’s not wrong. They all know it. They had just seen proof of it.  

“The assailant?” John asks, turning back to Kate. 

“Corporal McKinney.” Kate says. “He was in Shepherd’s pocket from the start. Someone who could watch first-hand. Someone who could sneak into the barracks unnoticed without many questions. He was likely the one that put the cameras up.” 

“Fucking wanker.” Simon growls. “He approached her once in the mess. Early on. Tried to introduce himself to her. Backed off as soon as I intervened. Never tried again, at least that we know of.” 

“She never mentioned him.” Christine says. “Or anyone else on base that might have tried to approach her.” 

“Where is he now?” Kyle asks. They’re all angry, frustrated. How had they not seen this happening? 

“Local police tracked his car to an abandoned airfield not far outside of Hereford.” Kate says. “He was dead inside. Police ruled it suicide.” 

“I’m sure it was.” John says. 

They all know it wasn’t. 

“Shadow Company likely picked her up from there with orders to stage a suicide.” Kate says. 

“One less loose string to worry about.” Simon says. “Covers their tracks in England.” 

They all go quiet. How this had all happened right under their noses? They’re all guilty of falling for it, for being too trusting in a world they know they can’t be too careful in. Allies can turn on a dime and become enemies. Betrayals can be easily bought. Things can turn downhill within a blink of an eye. They’re supposed to be prepared for the worst, ready for every possibility. 

They had written this off as a conspiracy, and now their omega is paying for it. 

“We need a plan.” Farah says, breaking the silence. 

“We can’t let Shepherd get away with this.” John says. 

“We cannae just leave her.” Johnny argues against his head alpha. It’s a brave thing, considering his alpha’s current mental state.  

“I don’t know how much more she can take.” Simon backs his beta up, the desperation and pain on your face still visible in all of their minds. 

“Let us go after Shepherd.” Alex says, offering up a solution. “He’s obviously watching for you to come after him.” 

“We can move undetected.” Farah agrees. “He’s less likely to expect us. You need to focus on your omega. Shepherd will show himself again eventually.” 

“Do we have a lead on their location?” Kyle asks, turning back to Kate. 

She nods. “We do now. I sent a team out to try and track location through the videos and where they were being sent from.” She pulls a map up on screen. “We have a location.” 

“Texas.” Alex says. 

“He took her home.” Christine says. 

“We have a plan then. We go after Graves, Farah and Alex start tracking Shepherd. Kate is eyes in the sky for us.” John says. 

“She’s going to need medical attention as soon as possible.” Christine says. She looks at Kate. “Where is the nearest military base from their location?” 

Kate types on her computer. “Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base in Fort Worth.” 

“Get me there and I’ll be waiting. She’s going to need someone she knows.” She says, looking at John. “She’s not going to just let anyone close to her after this. She may not even let you close.” 

John stares down at her for a long moment. She stares back unflinchingly. She doesn’t get intimidated easily, not after years of dealing with institutes and alphas alike. 

He lets out a breath, staring down at her for a long moment before he nods. “I trust you.” 

“Short reunion this time.” 

“I’m just glad I got to see your face again.” Christine says, looking up at Alex. 

“Things are...complicated.” He says. “Maybe after all of this is over we can go and get some coffee. Talk about our lives...as much as we can.” 

The corner of her mouth twitches up in a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.” 

Alex pulls her into a hug, holding her tightly. “You’re doing good work, Chrissy.” 

She shakes her head at the nickname, but she holds him just as tightly. “I’m trying to.” 

Alex pulls away, squeezing her arms. “I’d say you are. You care a lot. To the point some might call it a character defect.” 

She scoffs, slapping his chest playfully. “Not like you’re much better.” She glances at the car where Farah is waiting patiently. “I’m happy for you.” 

“Oh, we’re....” Alex blushes to his ears. “We’re not...” 

She gives him a look. “Mhm sure.” She looks up at him one more time. “Be safe.” 

“As best I can.” He says. “Take care of yourself. Don’t be too hard on yourself either.” 

“I try not to be.” She squeezes his hand before stepping away. 

She watches the SUV drive off, stomach churning with nerves for both of them. Shepherd is dangerous, but Alex has fearlessly faced down danger since he was a kid. He’s always been brave and determined, loyal and unafraid to do what he thinks is right no matter what. She trusts him to take care of himself, she trusts Farah to help him, even if she only met the woman today. 

She trusts them both to take care of each other. She trusts them both to help put an end to this. 

Your body aches, muscles screaming. You can’t take much more. Your cheek throbs painfully, swollen to the point you almost can’t see out of your left eye. The pain burning from your neck makes the other pain in your body nearly irrelevant, nearly nonexistent. It’s like electricity, burning through your very cells. Every movement seems to make it flare, makes the electric shock jolt through you. The burning pain that follows makes you whimper, a pathetic choking sound squeaking out from your bruised throat. 

The pain makes you nauseous, vomit staining the front of your shirt and pants. It’s mostly bile and the little food you’ve gotten since your kidnapping. 

Nutrient bars, meant to keep you fed and nourished for a short period of time. 

You may never be able to eat them again. 

“Fuck.” Graves curses, staring at his phone. “They’ve backed off.” He steps up to you, looking down on your pathetic form. “Looks like your boys do care about you after all.” 

Do they? Are they really coming for you, or have they simply given up chasing Shepherd because they lost all their leads. Will they come for you, or will they leave you here to rot? What will Graves do then? Try to take you as his own omega? Kill you out of anger? 

Your stomach churns and you can feel the bile rising. 

You vomit again, the warm liquid splashing into your lap. You can’t lean far enough anymore, not without the risk of not being able to pull yourself back up, not with the pain burning your every movement. You can’t even lift your head anymore, your body weak and battered and bruised. There’s blood everywhere, on you and on the floor. You can still taste it in your mouth, mixing with the sourness of bile. 

Graves gives you a disgusted look before turning to the others in the room. “Duran, Lewis, keep watch. The rest of you come with me.” 

He leaves the room for the first time in what you assume is days. For once the cocktail of scents begins to disperse, all but two of the alphas finally disappearing. Where they’re going or what they’re going to do, you don’t know. You can’t bring yourself to care either way. You just want to go home. You want to see your mother again, your brothers and sisters, even your father would be a welcome sight after this. You want your alpha, you want him to hold you, to take you in his arms, keep you safe.

He abandoned you. He left you to suffer like this. 

Your breathing picks up as you sit there, chin to chest as you stare at your bloody shirt. The smells in the room are awful, the scents no longer there to block out the sour bile and metallic stench blood. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, pink tinted splatters dripping onto your pants. What are you going to do now? What are they going to do to you now? Will they keep you alive long enough for your pack to arrive then kill you in front of them? Will they torture them too, make them watch as the life slowly leaves your eyes in revenge for chasing after Shepherd? 

A sob rips through your sore throat up out of your lips. 

You just want to go home. 

You just want to be free. 

You can be. 

Distress. The final defense. The last ditch effort omegas have to save themselves. Distress will lead to your omega taking over, and if nothing else, a quiet death you won’t even realize is happening. Your body will give out and you’ll be safely tucked into the back of your brain, comforted by your instincts. You won’t have to worry anymore. You won’t have to care. 

If nothing else, the pain will be over. 

I’m sorry. 

You begin to breathe heavier, ignoring the pain in your body as you push yourself to hyperventilate. The alphas behind you might do something, might try to stop it. They could, but would they even know how? Would it even work if you got too far? They’re not your alpha. They can’t comfort you, bring you back from the edge without forcing you. Will they even bother? 

You tilt your head to the side, putting pressure on your injured scent gland. You sob at the pain, the burning flowing straight into your very cells, making them scream. You push through it, your wrists twisting against the zip ties, digging them further into your already damaged wrists. The pain pushes you to a point of panic, your heart rate through the roof. You can feel it, the tightening of your muscles, your joints locking into place. 

You’ve never done it purposefully before, but in this state, it’s not hard. 

They left you. They’ve abandoned you. They’ve given up. It’s all your fault they left. They’re not coming for you. You’re not worth it. 

The thoughts send you down the spiral, the edges of your vision starting to go dark. You’re floating away, hands and feet going numb as your wheezing, shallow breaths block the oxygen from getting to your brain. You’re sinking, your body floating as you begin to retreat into the back of your mind. The cage is open, your omega soothing you as you drift off, curling up in the back recesses of your mind. 

You’re safe now. She whispers. 

There’s no going back. 

You’re going to get out. 

Even if you have to do it yourself. 

The last breath you remember taking is shaky, making you cough before your vision begins to fade to grey, then to black. You’re getting out of here no matter what. You’re going to go to sleep. If you fail, you’ll never know it. Your death will be quick and gentle and you’ll never know it happened until you’ve moved on to whatever is next. 

You won’t remember any of this. That’s your only consolation. 

Your vision fades to black as all memory and awareness leaves you. The last thing you remember is the snap of the zip ties around your wrists as they break. 

“Graves has moved with some of his men to the western building. It’s likely the hostage is being held in the eastern building. Gaz and I will go after Graves. Ghost and Soap will try to secure the hostage.” 

“Keller is on her way to NAS JRB as we speak. They’re on standby for medevac.” 

“Stealth is our priority. They know we’re here, we risk losing the hostage. Quick and quiet, take them by surprise. The faster we do this, the sooner it will all be over.” 

**Content Warning: blood and slight gore, someone gets shot offscreen, some gorey and explicit imagery towards the end**

He’s not unfamiliar with high stakes missions. It’s his specialty. He’s cool and calm under stress and pressure, which is why he gets chosen for them. He can detach easily, get the job done and then go home and forget. 

So why are his hands shaking? 

This isn’t a high stakes mission, not like one he’s used to doing. The stakes are higher, higher than he’s ever had before. It’s not just eliminating some faceless target, it’s not just rescuing some faceless hostage. 

It’s rescuing you. 

How much did he get for this assignment? How much did he settle for once he learned you were involved? 

He hates that you were involved in all of this. He hates that they all fell for it, blind to the truth, blind to Shepherd’s traitorous actions. They refused to entertain those conspiratorial thoughts, and now you’re paying for it.

He hates it.

He should have never left you alone like that. He should have argued against Price and his decision to leave when they knew something wasn't right. They should have known something was going on behind the scenes, that there was a higher purpose to all of this.

His conspiracies had been correct from the start.

He hates that it had to come to fruition.

How could Graves torture an innocent omega? You're not just an innocent omega to him, though. You're a broken promise, a lost opportunity, one he'd waited for, for a long time. Of course he wouldn't have stopped as soon as they started going after him. He wouldn’t give up just because Shepherd told him to stop. He’s ruthless and uncaring of who he hurts and why. He gets his orders and he completes them, no matter what, so long as whoever is giving those orders can pay a high enough price.

Far too much despite that fact, most likely. Maybe he should become a merc. Less rules and more money.

It’s not a bad idea. 

He lasers his focus on the building as they creep through the trees, moving silently. Two against however many are inside. It was impossible to tell with how many were moving between the two buildings constantly. 

He brought the whole squad. He planned on putting up a fight regardless. 

At least they have the element of surprise on their hands. 

“We move silently through the building.” He says as they approach the door. There’s two guards standing outside. “They know we’re inside, things could go downhill quickly.” 

“On you, LT.” Johnny says, taking point beside him. 

“Drop one, I’ll take the other.” He says, aiming at one of the two Shadows guarding the door. 

It’s quick and quiet, their bodies slumping onto the damp dirt. Simon scans the area before moving forward to the door. It’s unlocked, Johnny pushing it open slowly to check for a trip wire. 

None. 

Sloppy, or perhaps on purpose. They can’t be too careful. Shepherd will have let Graves know they’re not on his trail anymore. He’ll be expecting them. 

They split up, combing the bottom floor of the building. He takes out two more Shadows, checking every room for a sign of their target, but they find none. 

“Second floor.” He says, waiting at the base of the stairwell for Johnny to join him. 

“You think she’s in here?” Johnny asks as they creep up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. 

“Well, we’ll find out.” 

It’s far too unguarded to where they’re holding you. Graves will have assumed they’d split up. He must have moved most of his men to the western building to put up as much of a barricade as possible. He can picture Graves standing there, the smirk on his face as he holds a gun to your head. Will he take that risk, shoot you in front of them and give them nothing to live for? Or will he use a knife, letting you die a slow, painful death in front of them? 

Or, maybe he moved them to the western building to make them think that’s where you are. Focus their attacks there so they leave you behind. He gets cornered, he send the word to kill you before any of them can get to you. 

More red herrings. 

He pauses before he reaches the top of the steps, taking out the shadow standing down the hallway. They split up again, looking through rooms at the top of the stairs, making their way down the hallway. 

One of the doors is open, and he silently motions for Johnny. He counts down silently in his head before rounding the corner, rifle up as he scans the room. His stomach churns as he looks inside, taking a couple cautious steps forward. He’s seen a lot of things in his time, done a lot of things, but this is different. 

“Screaming Jesus.” Johnny says, lowering his rifle as he steps in behind Simon. 

There’s blood everywhere. 

It’s coating the floors, leaving a sticky residue as it dries. It’s the room you were in. He recognizes it from the video, and the bright light in the corner is a dead giveaway. The chair in the middle of the room has been broken, the wood of the arms snapped off and splintered. There’s four bloody zip ties on the floor, along with several instruments on the floor including the ice pick. 

He wants to shove that into Graves’ eye for what he did to you. 

There’s two bodies on the floor, one of them dead in a pool of his own blood, the other choking as blood seeps onto the floor under him. He steps up to the shadow, putting his boot on his chest and pushing. The Shadow lets out a groan, coughing up blood. 

“Where the fuck is she?” He growls, staring down at the quickly paling face. 

“Fucking bitch went crazy.” He chokes out. “Went running.” 

Simon steps back, pulling out his handgun and firing two bullets into the Shadow’s head. 

“Price, we found the room.” He says into his comm. “The hostage isn’t here. A half-dead Shadow said she bolted.” 

“LT.” Johnny says, motioning to the door, the only other exit from the room. There’s a bloody handprint on the door, one too small to be one of the Shadows’. 

“I think she managed to get out.” He says, staring at the handprint. His stomach drops, his hand tightening around his rifle. He glances down at the bodies, throats cut and faces bloody. “I think her omega took over.” 

“You and Soap go after her. She’ll do the one thing she knows to do, the one instinctual thing she can do if she has nothing to fight.” Price says. “We’ve got Graves cornered.” 

Simon pushes the door open, cool air flowing into the stuffy room. There’s bloody shoe prints heading down the stairs. He can see the rapid turn on the concrete below before they head off towards the trees. 

“I’ve got a trail.” He says. 

“Go.” Price says. “Simon...you know what you have to do.” 

He does.

He motions for Johnny to follow before hurrying down the stairs. The longer they delay, the further you’ll get. He doesn’t doubt some Shadows followed you if you made that much of a ruckus. The more time they waste, the more dangerous things get, and not just because they might lose you or the shadows might catch up. 

He races towards the treeline, rifle in hand, but there’s no one else standing guard. Price and Gaz will have taken care of those in the other building, and those that were outside probably went after you. 

He slows once they break the treeline, trying to catch any hint of your scent that might be left. His only hope is that you’ve left a trail. He’s a tracker, he knows what he’s doing. His senses are stronger, more in tune. He can find you. He can track you down. He has to. 

The guilt is eating him alive. If something happens to you, he’ll never forgive himself. He’s right here, so close and yet so far. You’re running on borrowed time and there’s only so much of it left. Eventually you have to slow, eventually your body will start giving up. Will it be too late then? If a Shadow finds you when you can’t fight back...

“Dead Shadow ahead.” Johnny says, motioning to the slumped over body ahead of them. “We’re on the trail.” 

“Let’s hope she left more markers on the way.” He says, kicking the Shadow, but the stab wound in his neck is all Simon needs to know. “Keep going straight.” He says, continuing on the path they’ve been following. He needs just a whiff, a hint of your scent. Something. 

They come across another dead Shadow, this one off to the side of the path they had been following. He turns, making an adjustment before moving forward. Johnny keeps close, both of them watching for more Shadows, or for any glimpse of you. All they can hope is they’re on the right path. 

He nearly sets off in a run as he hears a sound ahead. It’s a yowl, almost like a mountain lion. It sends a tingle down his back, his alpha blaring warning alarms. A threatened omega is a dangerous thing. Fierce and protective of themselves, capable of great feats and lethal if you get too close. 

It’s you, no doubt. 

Price had been right. 

He has no choice. 

He pushes forward, his steps quick as he makes his way through the bushes. He spots you near a boulder, trying to fight off a Shadow. He’s got the upper hand, using his size against you. You’re getting tired, your movements slowing. Simon aims with his rifle, a shot to the head dropping the Shadow. You drop into a crouch, surveying the trees. You’re covered in blood, a knife in your hand as your wild eyes search for them. 

“Distract her.” He says to Johnny. “Make yourself as unthreatening as possible. I’ll go around and get her from behind.” 

He doesn’t even wait for an acknowledgement before he’s moving, slipping around to the side of the boulder. Johnny steps into the clearing slowly, holding his hands up, talking to you quietly.

“Easy, kitten. Ye know who I am.” Johnny is careful not to get too close, his steps slow as he moves to the side, getting you to turn. “We’re just here to help ye. Get ye home and safe.” 

You’re holding the knife up, brandishing it at Johnny. Simon isn’t sure if you’ve ever thrown a knife before, but he doesn’t put it past you to try in this state. 

He hopes Johnny’s reflexes are fast enough. 

He slips out from behind the boulder as you pause, wasting no time as he races up behind you and grabbing you before you can bolt or go for Johnny’s neck. You let out another yowl, struggling against him as he wraps an arm around your chest. Your teeth sink into his arm and he lets out a curse, but he doesn’t let go. If he lets go, they won’t get another chance. It’ll be too late. 

He doesn't want to do it. His mind flashes back to his father and mother, one of the few times his mother fought back. It hadn’t lasted long before her body went limp, practically a ragdoll in his father’s hold. Simon had grabbed Tommy and ran, barricading them in his room. They didn’t want to see what was going to happen next. 

He doesn’t want that kind of control over you, he doesn’t want to put you through that trauma. The disorientation, the fear, the confusion. That must have been what it felt like after being sedated during your heat. You had been sick for days, crying in Johnny’s room. He had heard every sob, every attempt to soothe you. 

He put you through that. He made you face that despite the fear on your face as Johnny escorted you to the med center. 

And now he has to do it again. 

He has to this time. He has no choice. His only other option is to let you die. Price will never forgive him. Johnny won’t even look at him again. He’d betray them worse than you did, worse than Shepherd, worse than Graves. 

You never really betrayed them in the first place, though. 

You were afraid, untrusting of them, unsure because of your past. He had been foolish to blame you, foolish to think it was somehow your fault. You acted out of fear, out of terror. How you must have felt in those moments when that beta showed up, when you faced down Shepherd alone, when you returned to find your space invaded and those cameras all over your room. They weren’t there to protect you, they weren’t there to support you. They left you alone and you hid it from them because you didn’t know any better, because you were so afraid. 

He’s a goddamn fucking prick he’s been. 

Tears blur his vision as he tucks his free arm behind you, shifting your position just enough so he can get his hand around the back of your neck. You kick out with your legs, releasing his arm, your head tilting back in a last ditch, instinctual effort to protect yourself. 

His eyes squeeze closed as you let out a yelp, his fingers digging into the back of your neck. It’s hard enough it will leave a bruise, but he has to be sure. It’s the only thing that might save you. It’s his only option, his only chance to keep you alive. 

“There you go.” He says quietly into your ear. “Need you to relax for me.” 

Your body goes limp in his hold, head resting back against his hand as he holds you there. Your muscles twitch as the tension leaves you, eyelids fluttering before they close. His arm stings where your teeth had sunk into his skin, hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t care. 

“Keep resting.” He says, easing his hand from the back of your neck as he shifts you in his arms. “Gonna get you somewhere safe.” 

You’re like a ragdoll in his arms as he lifts you up, cradling you against his chest. You’re warm, hair sticking to your forehead. 

“Call it in.” He tells Johnny, his eyes still glued to your face. “We need that medevac now.” 

“Price, we got her.” Johnny says into his comm. “We need medevac stat.” 

You look so peaceful despite the blood soaking your body. Partially yours, partially the Shadows you killed in your escape. You look like a gruesome painting, a gorey depiction of an omega pushed too far. Something they’d put on display in a museum, a photo that would win prizes in celebration of such a natural state caught on camera. It would be circulated for decades, something talked about centuries from now. 

A raw view of humanity’s inner beasts. 

He can’t stand it, seeing you like this. They did this to you. They are the reason you’re like this. They made the bad call in the end, they put you through this. You won’t forgive them, not after everything. You went weeks without them, without a word and then this happened. Innocence tainted in the blood of the guilty. The bloodstained omega held in the arms of the blood-tainted alpha. He should be the one covered in their blood. He should be the one carrying the weight of torture and desperation on his shoulders. 

The guardian dog covered in blood in the name of protecting his innocent sheep. 

How he’s failed you. How they all failed you. 

He pushes past the pain, past the grief, past the guilt and the horror of what they did to you, what they put you through. 

They’ve got you back. You’re safe. 

It’s over. 

NEXT ->

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[poorxsouls]

“My perfect Marionette~.”

Shadow Milk Cookie HCs

‧₊˚ 🩻 ✮⋆˙ ₊˚🎧⊹⋆｡𖦹 °

“Oh, mister wolf, you want me to stay? But I fear we’ll regret it one day.”

TW: slight spoilers(mainly tame), possible yandereisk themes, SM being a morally evil cookie (who all we love), mention of violence/death, slightly suggestive ( aka biting and stuff, but nothing NSFW), this is mainly fluffy, etc..

CW: Shadow Milk Cookie, other CRK characters ( such as Pure Vanilla cookie, the other beast, etc.. ).

Based on @dedfly ‘s CK/SM x anon art, maybe check them out since they’re honestly awesome and deeply underrated! These HCs are mainly romantic, but can be platonic dating depending on your preferences. BTW, the reader will have they/them pronouns for gender neutral reasons.

‧₊˚ 🩻 ✮⋆˙ ₊˚🎧⊹⋆｡𖦹 °

—⟡—

-Let’s get it out of the way—yes, he’s the jealous type. Whenever he sees you around the other cookies (expect for the beast cookies, he’s cool with the gang), he automatically pouts before shooting a glare at whoever dares to even breathe your air. Of course, you always calm him down with butterfly kisses.

-As evil as your man is, only you can insult him. So whenever a cookie tries to say something, you often end up beating that said cookie while Shadow Milk Cookie places his hands on his cheeks with a playful smile. It’s like he gets a power trip off seeing you defend him, he either becomes a playful ass: “Baaaabe, staaaawp, you know I’m shy!!” or be your personal cheerleader, doing whole choreographed works while you beat someone up.

-Often, he dresses himself up all pretty whenever you two go outside for a date as to show off to other cookies. Mainly wearing jester related clothing, but making sure to stand out. If you praise him, he always lets out a smug scoff saying that obviously he’s the handsomest cookie to live!… only to ask you to repeat the praise again, basically fishing for compliments.

-Yes, he has fangs which he proceeds to nibble on your fingers. Like a cat, biting is a love language he enjoys, but unlike Burning Spice Cookie, he isn’t going to bite your face off, so it’s only mildly annoying to you. Most of the time, you find the jester only leaving soft and light marks on your fingers and at worst, he takes a playful nibble of noise. Again, he is nothing compared to Burning Spice Cookie.

-When he confessed to you, he did it through a puppet play and you cannot believe how long it was. He plan out the whole puppet wedding, domestic life, how we could kill million of cookies as a present for you.. you know, the usual! Anyways, he was over the moon when you accepted and return his feelings.

-He has odd gifts, alright? Look, he’s tried getting tips from Eternal Sugar Cookie herself, but the gifts are not the best. Most of the time, you end up getting gifts such as a bouquet of cookie’s (still beating) hearts, designing fancy outfits for you, and so on, so on.. either way, Pure Vanilla has to force him to get you normal gifts even if the Beast whines.

-Long story short, he’s a ♾️/10 and you cannot convince me otherwise. Of course, he’s not the best, but he’s trying his best! Basically, you two are cutie pies who love each other.

—⟡—

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

જ⁀➴ Me and Mr Wolf - The Real Tuesday Weld

0:32 ━❍──────── 4:33

𐙚 “The old and upright, what do they know?

I'm all appetite, you'll help me grow!”

𐙚 “Oh my love, I want you too

But, my desire may prove your doom.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

“His evil eyes and jolly smile captivate me”(✿╹◡╹)!

[awriterinthenight]

"And How Would You Like to Kiss a Smart Guy?"-Fred Weasley

requested: no

words: 1840

warnings: Molly complaining about the twins, reader is a Gryffindor and Sirius' daughter, also implied that reader is shorter to Fred

summary: When Molly complains about the twins, you defend then, especially Fred, leading to Sirius having old memories of Lily and James.

You could hear Molly Weasley yelling about something in the kitchen as you approached the door. Recently you, Harry, Hermione, and all the Weasley kids had been living in 12 Grimmauld Place, which is technically your family's house. Your dad had been hiding out there, and you had started living with him to make up for all the time lost while he was in Azkaban.

Grimmauld Place was starting to become your home and even feel like it. Ever since your Hogwarts letter came, the school has only ever felt like your real home. Many of your friendships were made there, your relationships all started there, and almost every happy memory was made at Hogwarts.

It was the place where you met Ron and Hermione on the train to Hogwarts. Then when you got sorted into Gryffindor you met Oliver Wood who was the Quidditch captain, and you became quick friends with him, due to you and Harry being on the team so young. It was also the place where you met the Weasley twins.

Ron had told you all about his oldest brother Bill, who now worked all the way in Egypt, and his other older brother Charlie who was a dragon tamer in Romania. Then he complained about how uptight Percy was. When he got to the twins it was a mix of funny stories and some humiliating ones for Ron.

"Oy, you're going to talk her ear off if you keep telling her about us," a voice yelled out. It was Fred Weasley. He was making his way over to where you and Ron were talking in the common room.

"Yeah, you're also not even telling her the truth," the other twin said, following behind Fred.

Fred came up behind you in the chair you were sitting in, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, bending down a bit so that he could whisper something to you, "We're a lot funnier than that, and way better at pranks than he's making it out to be."

"Uh huh," you said, acting skeptical, "If you say so."

Him and George looked hurt at your words.

"If you say so," George yelled loudly, clutching his chest, "Do you hear this blasphemy?" he said to Fred.

Fred removed his arm from around your shoulders, "Oh, I do, and believe me I cannot stand for this. We didn't get detention for a month to be insulted like this. Now did we?"

You rolled your eyes, as Ron looked bored from having seen this act before, "Don't you two have anything better to do than bother some first years?"

"Well when you insult a man's pranks, one feels rather hurt," Fred said, continuing his dramatic act.

You looked him up and down before you said, "What man? All I see are two cocky gits."

They looked even more insulted, but once again Fred spoke first, "And she's got a sharp tongue. It seems we have our work cut out for us."

"That we do, dear brother," George said to his twin.

"You know what I think we need to do?"

"Of course I do, now off we go," George said before walking away with his twin in tow. That moment was the reason for the twins' further actions towards you. Wherever you went the twins would always do some prank near you to make you laugh. Fred started to take pride in knowing one of his jokes made you laugh, even if it was barely a chuckle or a smile.

The boys did everything they could to get you to crack. Slowly it became their favorite past time, especially for one twin. During 4th year something started to shift in how Fred saw you. You were no longer just his little brother's friend, but you were his too. Except he started to wish you were more.

He watched you get prettier over the years, to the point he caught himself staring a couple of times. Fred loved the banter between the two of you, you always had some sort of retort to everything. You still called his pranks "silly" or sometimes "immature" but that was only when it went wrong. He still did his dramatic act everything you said that, but now it was because he just liked having your attention all on him.

Fred's crush on you wasn't entirely unrequited though. You started to fall for him too. You didn't know if it was because of his charm, or the banter that was the closest you would get to flirting, or even just the way he looked. He was always looking down at you, having to lean in a little closer to hear you since he was so tall.

Being at Grimmauld Place was no different to being at Hogwarts with the way the twins, especially Fred, acted. They still pulled pranks and Fred still had his banter with you. Which was exactly what Mrs. Weasley was yelling and complaining about.

You'd walk in to make tea and grab a biscuit when you heard, "And they're always up to something. I can't with those two, one of these days they are going to have to grow out of these pranks and jokes," Molly complained, while cleaning the table.

"Hey, me and James were the same way, and look how we turned out," Sirius said, but Molly just gave him a look, "Alright, maybe not the best example, but look at Remus. He was part of our pranks, and he ended up teaching at Hogwarts."

Remus had now butted into the conversation, "I did end up having to leave due to my furry little problem, though I did enjoy some of their mischief, Molly," he defended, taking a sip of his tea.

"They don't even study. How will they get anywhere if they don't focus on school. For once I wish they would focus on their classes instead of some dumb prank or useless product," Molly continued on.

You'd been at the counter, letting your tea bag sit in your tea, as you listened to Molly rant. At some point you let out an eye roll and huff that did not go unnoticed. Your dad and uncle seemed to pick up on your small gestures.

"You seem to have some thoughts on this matter, why don't you share them with us," Sirius teased, sitting at the dinner table, leaning back in his chair.

You shrugged, annoyed you were being put on the spot, "I have nothing to say really."

"Oh come on, you go to school with them, you must have something to say," Remus interjected, picking up on what Sirius was doing.

Before you could respond, Molly spoke up before you, "It's alright dear, I know everyone is probably annoyed by their childish pranks."

You rolled your eyes again, this time deciding to defend the twins, "They're actually not that childish. They're pretty impressive if anything."

"Oh really? And what makes you say that?" Remus questioned, leaning against the counter.

"They've pulled off really complicated charms before actually," you started, "And they're both really smart, especially Fred. I once watched him pull off a charm during my first year, that not even seventh years could pull off. Whenever they come up with some new product Fred always shows it to me and explains it, and its always bloody genius. I don't think I've seen him come up with an idea that hasn't worked. I think if he did try to study he could be top of his class, especially in charms. He could probably give Hermione a run for her money if he cared enough. I don't see why everyone demeans his pranks so often. He's a bit of a genius when it comes to them," you explained, not realizing when your defense for the twins turned into you rambling on about how smart Fred was.

You turned around to face the three adults who all had a smile on their face, yet also seemed a bit shocked. Sirius started to massage his temples, quietly repeating "not again, not again," which you didn't understand why. While Mrs. Weasley had a knowing smile as she continued cleaning, not saying a word. Finally you turned to Remus, who was shaking his head at Sirius.

"What?" you exclaimed, confused as to why they were acting like this, "What's wrong with him? Why does he keep repeating that?" you asked Remus.

Remus took in a long deep breath before saying, "Because, about 17, maybe 18 years ago, Lily Potter said the same words, unknowingly might I add, about Harry's father all those years ago," he explained.

It took you a moment to connect the dots, but once you did you were quick to react, "Shut it."

"She said the same thing too," Remus teased, as you walked out of the kitchen.

***

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Fred had heard everything you said. He thought they were talking about something for The Order, but he ended up catching your conversation. He was over the moon to find out you thought of him like that, and he knew the next time he talked to you he would tease you about it for forever.

***

The next time Fred saw you, you were walking back to your room upstairs when he stopped you.

"What do you want, Weasley?" you asked, knowing he probably had some prank to show you, or a new product.

"I think you mean genius actually," he teased.

It took you a moment to understand what he meant, but once you did you felt a bit embarrassed, "So you heard all of that?"

He nodded his head, "Oh, I heard all of it. How I'm a genius, and my "silly" pranks are actually really impressive, and how you think I'm super smart," he teased, while having the biggest smile on his face.

You shrugged, "And so what if I do?"

Your confidence threw him off a bit, but he went with it. He was silent for a moment before he spoke, "Well, do you like smart guys," he asked, trying to shoot his shot.

"Maybe," you replied, inching closer to him without realizing it.

"That's not an answer, love," he said, the name rolling off his tongue as if it was completely normal.

"Yes, I do," you admitted.

Fred's smile got even wider at your confession, "Good" he said, "And how would you like to kiss a smart guy?"

You shrugged, "I don't know, who is this supposed smart guy?"

"I heard he's quite the genius," Fred said, closer to you now than he was before.

You considered it for a moment, "Then yes, yes I do."

"Even better," Fred said, before connecting his lips with yours. Your hands went around his neck, one of them tangling in his hair. Fred's hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. You both had waited so long for this moment, that it was unbelievable that it finally happened. You didn't know what was next, but you enjoyed the moment between you.

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[softspiderling]

est-ce que tu m’aimes? | j.v

summary:

“I am sorry, I-“ you pulled the door open, but to your surprise, you came face to face with the source of your sorrows.

“Jace,” you spoke, voice even, crossing your arms over your chest. “Have you come to throw some more insults? Maybe some at me this time?”

Jace clenched his jaw, his hand on the goddamned sword again. Was he itching to take your head off so badly?

OR; Jace’s reaction truly confuses you, you settle in at Dragonstone and a surprising addition to the team makes themselves known.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader, platonic!daeron targaryen x reader

warnings: Jace being a little mean (we all know he’s capable of it)

word count: 5,6k

author’s note: yoooo pt. 2 is finally here!! i hope you love it sm!!! pls don’t forget to reblog/leave comments etc if you liked it!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I cannot believe you would let her waltz into our home like that! She’s putting all of us in danger!”

In less than two days, you were sat outside a study as a heated argument about you took place behind closed doors. It was merely a coincidence that it was within the same family.

After Jace had stormed into the council room, meeting you with open hostility, Rhaenerya had asked you to give them some privacy. You had barely left the room before Jace had started spitting ill words about you.

“She saved me, Jace!”

“What if this is some plot for her to put herself in our midst and feed information back to King’s Landing?”

“Was she not residing in Oldtown with Daeron ever since we left for Dragonstone? It is doubtful she has been let in on the plans to usurp the throne.”

Jace let out a frustrated groan and it was silent for a few moments before Rhaenyra spoke again.

“It seems to me you have a different issue with her… Is it because you have feelings for her?”

Your breath stocked in your throat, your hand stilling against the door. Jace’s behavior towards you confused you deeply. It seemed like he harbored resentment, but you weren’t sure when it had started, when you had suddenly become a traitor in his eyes, instead of a friend.

“Don’t be ridiculous, mother.”

The way Jace scoffed hurt you more than ten daggers in your back, and you pressed your lips together, refusing to let the words of a man affect you.

“I only wish to protect you.”

Swallowing thickly, your hands balled into fists and you jumped back when the door suddenly opened, a knight gesturing for you to step in.

Hesitantly, you entered the room, the tensions still high and you looked at Jace, but he refused to meet your eyes, turning his head away.

Rhaenyra on the other hand stepped up you, taking your hand in hers, cradling it gently.

“I will never be able to repay the debt,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes warm. “You saved my son, even though you weren’t obligated to do it. For that, I will offer you a place here, at Dragonstone, and a place in my council, if you wish to take it.”

“Mother!-“

Rhaenyra ignored Jace’s protest, her voice unwavering. “I believe your insight into our enemies will give us an advantage to win this war.”

“I do not wish to cause a drift between you,” you said honestly. “If Jace does not wish for me to stay-“

“It is not his place,” Rhaenyra said and Jace only scoffed. You fought the urge to glare at him, you didn’t want to antagonize him even further.

“Thank you, your Grace,” you said, lowering your head. “I would very much like to stay.”

Frankly, you wouldn’t know where to go, had Rhaenyra not offered for you to stay, you weren’t sure what expected you, would you return to King’s Landing; it surely wouldn’t go over well.

“And the seat on the council?”

You pressed your lips together. It was an honor, an offer like that, but you could tell Jace wanted you to say no with the way he was looking at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

“May I think about it?”

“Of course,” Rhaenyra said, squeezing your hand. “Ser Lorent, escort the Lady to her chambers. I think the ones in the West Wing will be fitting.”

Ser Lorent bowed, before gesturing his arm out to you. “My Lady, if you please follow me.”

You bowed your head to Rhaenyra, turning to leave, but just before you stepped over the threshold of the room, you glanced back. Luke gave you a small smile, but Jace had turned his back to you again. You tried not to let it go to your head, but your mind was racing with questions after Ser Lorent had dropped you off in your chambers.

The sun was shining through the windows when you awoke the next day. You had chosen to take supper in your chambers the night before, trying to give Jace some space. There had been no maid to wake you, so it must still be early. A loud clang of swords floated up from outside and you wrapped a robe around your shoulders as you got out of the bed, glancing out the window.

It turned out that your chambers laid directly above the training grounds, where Jace and Luke were currently in the middle of training. It was nice to see Jace without a scowl on his face for a change, and you took the opportunity to look at him.

He had grown into a very fine Prince, his hair long, curling around his face, his cheekbones high. You had always known he’d grow up to be very handsome. It was hard to imagine he’s the same boy who had told you to write to him every day.

Now, he hadn’t spoken to you a single word after his agitated discussion with his mother.

“Lift your sword up higher when you are in offense, but when someone is advancing on you, make sure to defend the lower part of yourself as well.”

Luke sighed, dropping the point of his sword on the ground, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. “We have been training since the sun has risen, can we go break fast now?”

“No, you need this.”

“What am I to do with a sword when Aemond descends upon me with Vhagar? Slash at her wings?” Luke scoffed. “I’m not lacking in swordsmanship.”

You pressed yourself against the window as Jace laid a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, lending him comfort similar in a way you have done with Daeron.

“It will not happen again, Luke. I will make sure Aemond will not get the chance to get near you again.”

Jace let out a breath, his face pained, you could even see it from a distance.

“It was foolish of me to suggest we go deliver the messages,” Jace sighed. “I should’ve gone with you, you had no protection. I never would have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

“Jace…” Luke looked at his brother, his forehead creased. “It wasn’t your fault. Our uncle behaved himself with no honor.”

“I should have expected that.” Jace smiled at him wryly. “You were lucky to escape Vhagar when you did.”

“I wasn’t lucky, I had help.”

Jace let out a loud sigh, giving Luke a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Let us go break fast, then.”

“Oh so now you want to end training,” Luke nagged, resheating his sword. “Because I mentioned Lady-“

“Do not speak her name to me,” Jace snapped, stopping Luke in the middle of his sentence.

Luke only sighed at his older brother.

“Jace… None of this is her doing. You cannot-“

A knock on your door quickly made you push away from the window, your cheeks red, almost having been caught eavesdropping.

The two young women standing in front of your chambers gave you a friendly smile, their hair - already twisted in intricate fashion despite the early hour - immediately told you of their parentage.

“You must be Baela and Rhaena.”

One of them, you assumed Baela, as she was wearing riding gear and last you had heard, Rhaena had yet to claim a dragon, inclined her head in yes. You gave them a smile.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m-“

“Oh we have heard all about you.”

Rhaena gave Baela a jab in the side, glaring at her sister and even though Baela had fallen into your word, it did not seem like she had done it in chargrin, as she had a friendly look on her face.

“We were about to break fast. Her Grace asked us to extend the invitation to you,” Rhaena said and you nodded.

“Thank you. Let me get dressed and I will meet you in the dining hall.”

After getting dressed and making yourself presentable, you made your way to the dining hall. Well, you tried, at least. The keep was much bigger than you had anticipated. Finally you rounded the corner, thinking you had reached the dining hall, but instead you were standing in a hallway that split into three more hallways.

“I could have sworn this was the way to the dining hall,” you muttered to yourself, looking around in confusion, when someone called your name.

“… Are you lost?”

Luke stepped out of his chambers, lingering in the doorway. He must have gotten changed after training in the pit, his doublet a little askew as he walked towards you.

“I was exploring the keep.”

Luke gave you a suspicious look, a grin growing on his face.

“How long have you been wandering around?”

“Why do you assume I wasn’t waiting for you to walk me to the dining hall?”

Luke laughed, offering you his arm, which you accepted gratefully as the two of you walked together. You found it was easy to converse with Luke, he was telling you about Arrax and how he has been faring ever since you got back, and that he wished for some more meat instead of fish. His cheeky grin reminded you a lot of Daeron when he was pulling one of his jests on his uncle. It was nice, to have something to remind you of home in a place that felt so unfamiliar.

“And here we are, at the dining hall,” Luke announced as you stepped into a completely different hallway, the large doors to the dining hall open.

“I never would have found my own way here,” you admitted and Luke laughed.

“I know.”

Judging by the sound of easy conversation coming out of the hall, you were the last to arrive. You were hesitant, unwilling to cause any tension but Luke tugged on your arm, sensing your discomfort.

“Come. You shall sit with me.”

You relented, following the young boy inside. The conversation at the table ceased as you entered, everyone bidding you a good morrow. Well, almost everyone.

“Have you slept well?” Rhaenyra asked as you sat down next to Luke. You nodded, giving her a smile.

“Yes, thank you. I am very grateful that you have offered for me to stay. And for the clothes, of course.“

Next to Rhaenyra, her lord husband Daemon only gave you a subdued smirk.

“It appears we are the ones who have to offer our thanks,” he said, his fingers circling the brim of his cup. “You acted when it was easier to do nothing. You showed true courage.”

“Please,” you said, nearly melting into your seat out of embarrassment. “I did what was right.”

You ignored how Jace visibly rolled his eyes, turning his head as he took a sip from his cup. He seemed incredibly displeased by this all.

“You should have seen her,” Luke said, nodding fervently. “She leapt from Vhagar to Arrax just above the clouds like it was a small jump over a beck.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Rhaena said and you nodded.

“It was. I truly do not know what came over me in that instant.”

“Sometimes we don’t know how brave we are until the moment asks for it,” Rhaenyra said with an encouraging smile and you nodded, your cheeks red. Thankfully this scene of praising you was interrupted by the servants starting to serve food.

“You have been living most of your recent name days in Oldtown, is that right?” Baela asked curiously, leaning towards you.

“Yes, Alicent sent Daeron to Oldtown and asked me to accompany him to make the distance from home easier.”

You have always thought it cruel of Alicent to send Daeron away from his family, his siblings. But now you wondered if Daeron was better off for it.

“It was really different from King’s Landing. The grandmaesters were incredibly wise and I have learned a lot from the them,” you told her, a smile on your face. “Daeron of course always dragged his feet, but I knew he enjoyed it as well.”

“How old is Daeron now?” Luke asked, swallowing his food.

“Eight and ten,” you answered. “Not quite a man just yet, even if he believes otherwise.”

The family laughed, and even Jacaerys cracked a smile, though it seemed more unkind than the rest.

“That seems to be running on his side of the family, no?” he asked, taking a sip from his cup. His voice was so cutting, and the light mood seemed to dissipate at once. “Aegon, Aemond, none of them display characteristics of a what a real man is… I wonder if Daeron turned out any better than his usurping and kinslaying brothers, though I-“

Before Jace could continue, you slammed both of your hands on the table as you stood, the tableware clattering. The table grew quiet, the tension thick as everyone laid their eyes on you, but you paid them no mind, your focus on Jace as you glared at him, and he seemed surprised at your outburst.

“Please excuse me,” you pressed out, eyes gleaming with anger. You barely waited for Rhaenyra to excuse you as you left the table, your food still untouched on your place.

As you hasten out of the dining room, you could hear Rhaenyra raising her voice.

“-unacceptable behavior!”

“Why are you all rushing to her defense? Or Daeron’s? She’s just being sensitive!”

“I have lived with you about as long as she has with Daeron,” Rhaena argued. “Would you not come to my defense if someone spoke ill about me?”

You didn’t wait to hear Jace’s answer rushing past the Queensguard that was standing by the door. By some miracle, you easily found your way back to your chambers, the heavy door falling shut as you threw yourself on the bed, letting out a scream of frustration.

You were at a loss.

Jace seemed to use every opportunity to antagonize you, treating you like an enemy instead of a friend he had grown up with. You were no damsel in distress who couldn’t handle tough words, but it was to hard to hear them from someone you harbored feelings for.

You wished you could talk to someone about this. You wished you could talk to Daeron about this. A part of you longed for the days when you were in Oldtown, before any of this occurred.

A knock brought you out of your thoughts and you lifted your head from the cushions, frowning.

“I wish to be alone for a little longer,” you called out. It was probably a handmaiden Rhaenyra had sent to check up on you. You hoped she would respect your wishes, but the knocking didn’t cease and with a small sigh, you pulled yourself up, heading to the door.

“I am sorry, I-“ you pulled the door open, but to your surprise, you came face to face with the source of your sorrows.

“Jace,” you spoke, voice even, crossing your arms over your chest. “Have you come to throw some more insults? Maybe some at me this time?”

Jace clenched his jaw, his hand on the goddamned sword again. Was he itching to take your head off so badly?

“I have been told that my behavior this morning was unbefitting for a Prince,” he ground out, the words like gravel in his mouth. “I’m here to extend an apology.”

You bit back a scoff, rolling your eyes. “Fine. Go ahead, then.”

He guffawed at your words.

“If you are going to be like this, I am not sure it makes much sense for me to apologize,” Jace said haughtily and you snorted.

“If I were to believe that a single word of your apology were genuine, I would readily accept it.”

Jace only scoffed, shaking his head but not denying your accusation. His nostrils were flared and you searched for his eyes, but he refused to meet your gaze. Exhaling softly, trying to let go of your anger, you uncrossed your arms, letting them fall to your sides.

“Why are you so angry?”

Suddenly, Jace’s eyes snapped up to yours, his lips parted in disbelief.

“My mother’s claim to the throne has been stolen by her usurper brother, my uncle! Whereas my other uncle tried to murder Luke, and you ask why I’m angry?”

You let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Forgive me, I should have been more clear. Let me rephrase,” you said. “Why are you angry with me?”

Jace took a step back, surprised by your question.

“You treat me like I myself have usurped the throne, Jace.”

You looked at Jace expectantly; his mouth opening, like he wanted to say something, before he closed it again, his words unspoken. Before you could demand an answer, hurried steps came down the hallway, Ser Lorent appearing, stopping next to your chambers. Jace seemed relieved at the distraction as the knight inclined his head at him.

“My Prince, the Queen has requested your presence for the council meeting.”

Jace nodded, giving you one last glance before stepping towards Ser Lorent, expecting him to leave right away, but Ser Lorent turned his eyes on you.

“You as well, my Lady.”

Jace let out a scoff and turned on his heel without waiting.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath as he stalked away. You sighed, glancing at Ser Lorent but he only extended his hand in silent invitation, leaving you no choice but to go with him.

The painted table in the council room was already fully seated, save for one empty space, two seats down from Jace. Most of the council consisted of lords of various houses, who eyed you sceptically as you took your seat next to Baela.

“What is a girl like her doing at a council meeting?” The Lord sat across from you asked, clear disdain on his face. You only stared back at him, not knowing how to answer yourself, but disliking his tone towards you only for the fact that you were not a man.

“This girl,” Jace replied, and you already resigned to another slight at you, “Has saved my brother up thousand feet on the air with no training. What have you achieved for my mother, Lord Bartimos?”

Lord Bartimos only let out an aggrieved sigh as he leaned back in his seat, while you turned to Jace with a surprised look on your face. He didn’t meet your eyes. Luke on the other hand, was ducking his head to hide a grin, failing miserably.

“She can offer us insights into the plan of the usurpers,” Rhaenyra said, effectively stopping any more arguments. “I hope we can avoid any bloodshed.”

“Avoid?” Daemon asked, leaning forward with a crease in his forehead. “They blatantly attacked a messenger after you wished for some time to think about their offer.”

“Daemon is right.”

Jace’s voice was strong as he agreed with Daemon, his shoulders tight.

“This is not the time to sit back and watch their plans unfold. We have come too close to unimaginable tragedy.”

Jace’s eyes flickered to his younger brother, before he turned to look to his mother. “We need to fight back.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth, seemingly to disagree with her eldest son, but a commotion outside caught everyone’s attention.

“Dragon!”

“It’s a dragon with a rider!”

Everyone at the table looked at each other, unsure of what was happening when a knight from the watch outside came storming into the room.

“Your Grace!” he called, bowing quickly. “There has been a dragon sighted with a rider, he’s headed straight for Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra’s forehead creased in concern.

“Do we know who it is?”

“No, your Grace.”

Rhaenyra stood, her strides quick as she walked outside, the rest of you were not too far behind her. Outside, the folks were rushing in, trying to get to safety from an imminent attack from the dragon.

“I will mount Moondancer,” Baela said, already turning on her heel but Rhaenyra stopped her, shaking her head.

“No. We do not know his intention yet, another dragon might provoke him into attacking.”

You lifted your eyes to the sky, sight blinded by the sun for the first few moments. The dragon’s movements seemed familiar to you, and as your vision adjusted, you let out a laughter, relief coursing through you.

“That’s Tessarion!” you exlaimed, turning to Rhaenyra with a smile. “It’s Daeron!”

You broke out in a run, skirt of your dress lifted as you skidded down the stoney hill, ignoring how Jacaerys was yelling after you to wait.

Tessarion landed on the green grass, stretching her orange-blue wings, as Daeron slid off his saddle, feet on solid ground again. He oriented himself looking around, before relief took over his face when he saw you.

“Sister!”

“Daeron!”

You fell around his arms like countless times before and he held you so tightly, you were afraid he’d never let you go.

“You promised,” he whispered into your neck in a choked voice. “You promised you wouldn’t abandon me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you mumbled, squeezing Daeron. You didn’t let go of him until his hold on you lessened, knowing he needed to realize that you were, and not gone. Pushing his hair out of his face, you gave him a watery smile.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Brother.”

Rhaenyra’s voice brought you back to reality, as the both of you stood straight, Rhaenyra’s face null of emotion. Jace was furious, his eyes flitting between you and Daeron continuously, while Daemon stood behind Rhaenyra.

“Are you here to deliver a message from the false King that is your brother?”

“I am not a messenger,” Daeron said, his voiced heated. “And as I recall he’s your brother as well.”

His tone is starting to border on disrespect so you glanced over to him, your eyebrows creased. Daeron let out a small sigh.

“I hold no loyalty to my brother,” he added, his voice softer. “Nor am I here to deliver any messages.”

“Then what is your purpose of being here?”

“I’m here because she is,” Daeron answered simply, squeezing your hand. “She has been more kin to me than either Aegon or Aemond. I want to stay on Dragonstone, if you allow it. Fight alongside you.”

“Are we offering shelter for anyone who comes here now?”

Jace’s voice was directed at Rhaenyra, but Daeron narrowed his eyes at him.

“What happened to him?” he muttered to you under his breath. “I do not recall him being this miserable.”

“Daeron!” you hissed, the corners of your mouth tugging up anyways. Jace scoffed, taking a step forward, only to be stopped by Rhaenyra.

“If you are willing to trust me, you have to trust Daeron,” you said, looking at Rhaenyra. You understood that she was wary, she and Daeron barely spent any time together, he was a stranger to her. But you hoped that her trust in you was only half as strong as your trust in Daeron. “If anything, it adds another dragon on your side.”

Rhaenyra regarded you with a impressed smile, giving a small nod.

“Very well. You might stay, Daeron,” she said; behind her, Jacaerys and Daemon exchanged a look, neither of them happy about her decision. “However, I wish to speak with you, alone.”

Daeron nodded, and you squeezed his hand as you followed Rhaenyra back inside the keep, trying not to let Jace’s piercing eyes on you bother you.

“I think it odd. Seeing Rhaenyra again after all this time. My sister.”

You were sitting out in the grass, Daeron’s head in your lap as he talked. He had spent the last two hours in the council room speaking to Rhaenyra. You weren’t sure what exactly they had talked about, but when they both came out, they seemed calm, almost peaceful. You didn’t pry, knowing that Daeron would share whatever he felt comfortable with.

“Does she feel like kin to you?” you asked, knowing how distant Rhaenyra was to Alicent’s children, even when they were younger.

Daeron shrugged, ripping up a blade of grass with his hand.

“She was polite enough. She knows what advantage she has having me on her side. I cannot see us become closer,” he said. “Like us.”

Daeron peered up at you with a grin and you rolled your eyes. Something was still nagging at you, and you knew it wouldn’t leave your head until you had answers

“What happened when Aemond got back? How did you know I was here?”

Daeron’s smile dimmed a little and he looked away, his eyes focusing on the blue sky above you.

“I was already searching for you by the time Aemond returned. I could tell by the look on his face that something had happened, so he told me that he had been out in Storm’s End to secure pledges for Aegon, and that you had come with. Luke had arrived just shortly after Aemond had negotiated with Lord Borros and he got angry, starting a fight, bringing up what had happened at Driftmark.”

Your brows furrowed. You had suspected that Aemond wouldn’t tell the truth, but blaming Lucerys for his bad temper? Anything to paint you as the villain.

“Aemond said you took Luke’s side, your feelings for Jace swaying you.”

Your cheeks reddened. You hadn’t realized that your affections for Jace were so apparent that Aemond would take notice. Daeron continued, unperturbed.

“- and that was when Aemond returned to King’s Landing.”

“That’s not-“

Before you could finish, Daeron interrupted you, his eyes finding yours again.

“I know, Rhaenyra told me what truly happened.”

“But did you really believe what Aemond had told you? That I would just go with Luke because of an argument, leave you?”

Daeron shrugged with his shoulders, his eyes downcast.

“I did not want to. But what was I supposed to do? Call Aemond a liar? I don’t think that would have gone well,” he argued. “I did not have choice but to accept his truth as mine.”

“Then why did you come here if you thought me a traitor?”

Stilling, Daeron pressed his lips together.

“Helaena… She was behaving peculiar… I was sitting with her in the day room, watching Jahaerys and Jahaera play, and all she kept saying was “To save her brother, you must trust your sister” while looking between me and Jahaera,” he told you and you frowned.

To save her brother, you must trust your sister?

“What does that mean?”

“I am not quite sure,” Daeron said, shaking his head. “But I knew it must mean that Aemond was not telling the truth, that you had left because of something else.”

You bit back a smile; it amused you how Daeron did not hesitate to think of you when someone mentioned his sister, but hummed in thought, unsatisfied with his words.

“What if she did not mean me? What if she was talking about Rhaenyra?”

The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel leading up to the small cliff made the two of you paused. You both looked up just to see Jace arrive to the top, stopping at the edge of the field stiffly. Daeron propped himself up on his elbows, glancing to you, then back to Jace slowly before he got to his feet, dusting off his clothes.

“I should go to the dragon mount. See how Tessarion is faring.”

You knew exactly what he was trying to do and you shook your head quickly, pulling yourself up.

“Daeron…!” you almost shouted, but the young Prince already departed. As he passed Jace, the older gave him an almost imperceptible nod, before Daeron disappeared down the hill. You let out a small frustrated huff, your eyes flickering to Jace before you turned away again. His steps were careful as he came closer, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, not looking at him as he came to a stop next to you.

You were the first to speak.

“I am surprised you didn’t call Daeron a traitor as he passed you.”

In hindsight, you could have chosen less biting words. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jace clench his jaw.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I am not!” Jace sighed. “I did not come to argue with you.”

“Then what have you come for?”

Jace fell silent again and you shook your head in exasperation. It was hard for you to read him; he seemingly had made it a habit to guard his emotions. When Jace finally spoke again, his words surprised you.

“I always envied him.”

“What?”

“Daeron,” he clarified. “When you wrote to me that you were to be sent to Oldtown with Daeron, I was furious. I begged mother to let you come with us, but she said it would be seen as disrespectful towards Alicent. She wanted to avoid a fight.” Jace scoffed, shaking his head. “The irony does not escape me.”

He paused, his gaze on the horizon. Two dragons had made their way out of the dragon mount, flying in the sky, stretching their wings. One, you were able to recognize as Vermax, with his orange green scales. He had grown exponentially since the last time you saw him. The other dragon was unfamiliar to you, but the dragons seemed to have a bond as they flew around each other playfully. You took your eyes off of the dragons to look at Jace. He was already looking at you, his cheeks pink.

“I looked forward to your letters every day,” Jace admitted, ducking his head. “… It eased my longing, if only slightly.”

Your lips pursed into a pleased smile.

“You longed for me?” you teased.

“Did you not long for me?” he asked quite bluntly, his eyes searching yours. “Or was what you had enough for you?”

Letting out a small huff, you shook your head, knowing what he was insinuating; the same thing that Aemond had hinted at only a few days prior.

“Daeron and I are like brother and sister, I do not long for him in any way than you do for Luke.”

Jace nodded, his smile delighted. But you let out a sigh, wringing your hands.

“If you truly felt like this… Why have you treated me so horribly ever since I’ve been here? Why have you stopped replying to my letters?”

“It’s not…” Jace trailed off, pulling his face into a frown. “After we received the news of my grandsire’s passing, mother has been on edge, preparing for war. We all have. And I felt guilty, I didn’t want to be distracted by anything, and whenever one of your letters arrived, I couldn’t get my mind on anything else than sitting down to write back to you. So I just… Stopped answering. And I thought I could write to you when all of this is over, but then you were suddenly… Here.”

Jace broke off, pressing his lips together. “You were supposed to stay in Oldtown, far away from the war that is brewing. Now you quite literally launched yourself right into the middle of it all. I thought it incredulous that you would just show up and save my brother… Like in a dream.”

Your chest ached. You had not realized how worried Jace was for you.

“But you thought I was spying for information,” you reminded him.

“I didn’t really believe you would be capable of doing so… But I couldn’t let my feelings cloud my judgement. Mother counts on me, and as her heir, I have to fulfill my duties.”

Biting your lip, you nodded, your chin low. While you understood why Jace had been behaving the way he was, it still hurt to be treated that way.

“I dislike causing you anguish,” he said quietly. “Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“The way to forgiveness may not be easy,” you warned him, a small smile on your face. “I am not known for being very forgiving.”

“Then it will be so much more rewarding,” Jace quipped, smiling at you.

The both of you fell into a comfortable silence, staring out in the distance, the dragons dancing in the sky. You almost flinched when you felt Jace hesitantly reach for your hand; it was the first time he let go of the hilt of his sword since you got to Dragonstone. Swallowing nervously, you laced your fingers with his, feeling the tension bleed away from his limbs. For a while, you just stood there, hand in hand, lending each other comfort in the silence. A silence Jace soon broke.

“Do you want to go for a ride on Vermax?”

Your eyes lit up at the sudden invitation, but you held your excitement at bay, not wanting to seem too eager. Seeing Jace’s face however, it told you that you better work on masking your emotions. While the imminent war brewing in the near future scares you, you didn’t want to forego small moments of happiness, you were sure the war held plenty of misery and frustration. You would enjoy every single smile you could shed.

“I’d love to.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: before you ask, i’m not planning on writing another part! maybe a few drabbles in the future! 🫶🏼